


Hide Beside Me

by Mordhena



Series: A Grief Observed [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brother/Brother Incest, Incest, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-07
Updated: 2018-09-06
Packaged: 2019-07-07 16:32:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 26,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15912060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mordhena/pseuds/Mordhena
Summary: The fallout from hunting the hell cat (Flauros), along with the generally fucked up lives they lead continues to trouble Sam and Dean as they attempt to negotiate the new territory of their relationship. This story follows on immediately from the final chapter of Hell Cat.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Trigger warning: This story deals with sibling incest, rape and other difficult themes. Do what you need to to stay safe.**
> 
> * * *

_And now we're grown up orphans_

_That never knew their names_

_We don't belong to no one_

_That's a shame_

_But you could hide beside me_

_Maybe for a while_

_And I won't tell no one your name_

_And I won't tell 'em your name_

_Goo Goo Dolls-Name._

* * *

 

 

They drove all the rest of that night, and half the following day, taking it by turns to sleep and drive, before Dean considered they were far enough from the little Pennsylvanian towns where the hell cat had ranged. They pulled up just after midday, at a diner in the middle of nowhere.

Sam had been sleeping fitfully, muttering and shifting position often, and Dean had grown tired of constantly having to nudge his younger brother awake from some nightmare which he could only assume was caused by the events of the previous night.

"Where are we?" Sam's voice was thick with sleep. He yawned, stretched and rubbed his eyes. "How long was I asleep?"

"Just the other side of Greeley Colorado," Dean told him. "You've been sleepin' on and off since Ogallala."

"Huh." Sam looked around, taking in the quiet back roads appearance of the place.

"I thought you might be hungry." Dean looked away from his brother, staring ahead through the windshield. Any conversation they'd had since leaving Millerton had consisted of these mundane exchanges—stopping for food, taking a pee break, stopping for coffee. They carefully avoided mentioning the last hunt or anything surrounding it.

"I guess we could find a place to stay," Dean said. "I could use some decent rest."

"Yeah," Sam agreed. He opened the door and got out of the car. "Maybe we can check the phone book for a motel while we eat."

Dean nodded, paused a moment longer and then got out of the car, following Sam across the small car park and into the diner. He sat at the small table, across from his brother and picked up the menu, not really looking at it—he knew what he would eat, his diner menu rarely changed. He glanced at his brother.

Sam kept his eyes downcast, feigning interest in the menu which he'd opened and laid flat on the table. He was pale and there were dark shadows under his eyes. He looked like shit, and Dean felt a pang of guilt flash through him. He swallowed hard, was about to speak when a waitress came to pour coffee for them both. Dean nodded to her and picked up his cup, sipping the strong, black beverage.

He frowned into his cup and set it down again. _What do you say to someone you forced to have sex with you last night, and then ran with them across the country to get away from it?_   He sighed, shooting his brother another glance, wishing that Sam would look at him, say something, even if it was just 'I hate you,' it would be better than silence.

"Sam…"

Sam jumped as though a gun had gone off next to his ear. He raised startled eyes to Dean's face; the glance sliding away before it quite met Dean's eyes. "Yeah?" His voice was soft, almost timid.

Dean frowned. "Sam," he said again, a note of reproof in his tone.

"I'm sorry," Sam said.

 Dean closed his eyes. He looked up when the waitress reappeared at his side, ordered something to eat, he couldn't even remember what, an instant later. Heard Sam order too.

"…and uh, do you have a yellow pages we could look at?" Sam asked the waitress.

"Sure," she replied. She tucked her notepad into the pocket of her apron and walked away, returning a moment later with the bulky phone directory.

"Thanks," Sam said. He flipped the book open and began to leaf through the pages.

Dean shook his head with another deep fetched sigh and resigned himself to be ignored for the time being. When their breakfast was brought to the table, Sam pushed the yellow pages aside and turned his entire attention to making a mess of the food on his plate, not eating a bite.

"Did you find us a place to stay?" Dean watched Sam nearly jump out of his skin again and bit back on his anger. Sam was behaving the way he used to with Dad when they were kids, keeping his head down and his mouth shut and flinching at every word or movement. Dean pursed his lips and waited for Sam to answer.

"I thought maybe somewhere near the lake at Windsor," Sam murmured.

 

Dean smiled. They both had fond memories of the lake. John Winchester had taken a house near Windsor for a few weeks about ten years ago. It had been something of a summer idyll swimming in the lake every day, or lazing in the sun while their dad was off on a hunt.

"That'd be nice," Dean said. He laid down his knife and fork, wiped his mouth, and threw his crumpled napkin on the plate. He got up. "Let's go."

"Dean," Sam said, getting to his feet. "I need to…" He trailed off for a moment and then made a gesture at Dean's bandaged hand. "I need to change the dressing."

"Okay," Dean said. "We can do it in the car before we head off," he added, walking towards the counter to pay for their breakfast.

 

Sam slunk out of the diner while his brother settled up with the waitress. He walked over to the car and leaned against it, his arms crossed over his chest, hugging himself as though chilled. He closed his eyes.

Every muscle in his body ached, but it was nothing compared to the ache in his chest. He felt he had done something terribly wrong, damaged his and Dean's relationship in a way that could never be fixed. Dean had been surly with him on the frantic drive from Pennsylvania, only speaking to him when it was absolutely necessary, avoiding his touch, avoiding his eyes. Sam squeezed his arms tighter around himself. He needed Dean; he wanted to be close to him. He wanted nothing more than to feel his brother's warm, strong arms around him, to rest his head on Dean's shoulder and cry.

 _That's not going to happen, though,_ Sam told himself. _He can't even bear to look at me, much less touch me_. Sam glanced towards the diner where Dean was talking to the waitress, they were obviously flirting and it caused Sam's heart to lurch painfully. He climbed into the car, slamming the door hard enough, he hoped, for Dean to hear it from inside. Sam twisted around, getting on his knees on the seat to reach in back for the first aid kit. He took out antiseptic cream, fresh gauze and cotton. He started when the driver's door swung open and Dean slid in behind the wheel.

"I may as well drive the rest of the way," Dean said. "We're not that far from Windsor anyway." He started to unwind the bandage from his left hand.

Sam nodded, reached for Dean's hand, concentrating on tending to the wound his brother had made the night before. _I don't get this_ , he thought. He flicked his eyes to Dean's face to find his brother watching him intently. Blushing, he looked away. _I know he gets wound up from a hunt, but—why do this?_ Finished with applying the cream to Dean's hand, Sam rebound it with the clean gauze. He silently packed the medical supplies back in the first aid kit, and dumped the used bandage into the plastic sack they used for trash.

Dean turned away from him and started the car. Silence coiled around them like smoke as they headed for Windsor Colorado.

 


	2. Chapter 2

It was too cold for swimming this time of year, but that didn't stop Sam from jogging around the lake. Dean said they were on ‘downtime’—Dean's idea of downtime was a bed, a twelve-pack and TV, none of which bothered Sam in the least but he could only do so much lying around drinking before his large frame demanded activity.

They had taken a room in a surprisingly upmarket motel just outside of Windsor and Sam had been pleased to discover that the lake was in close proximity and there was a short, but challenging track where he could spend a half day hiking to the top to enjoy the view across the lake. He usually took a book and a cut lunch with him, spending an hour or so reading before heading back down to the motel. 

He'd been out at the lake that day, and was on his way back to their room. His thoughts, which had been freed of the problem of how to get through to Dean, were forced back to the cold reality that his brother still refused to touch him and that both of them avoided the subject of Millerton PA like the plague. Sam paused at the door of their room, took a deep breath and stepped inside.

He wrinkled his nose. The room stank of beer, stale pizza, sweat and unwashed laundry. Sam glanced at his brother on the way to throw open the drapes and a window. "Dude have you even moved since I left?" He shook his head when Dean gave him a tipsy smile. "You know, there's more to life than beer and M*A*S*H re-runs!"

"Yeah," Dean agreed. “You missed the Dukes of Hazard. That General Lee, what a sweet car!" Dean shook his head. "Those Dukes of Hazzard, dude, they're a lot like us."

"Oh sure. Dean, they wouldn't recognize a demon if it bit 'em in the ass." Sam snorted.

"Maybe not, but they know a thing or two about dodging the law." Dean picked up his beer and took a swig.

"What, I suppose you're Bo and I'm Luke?" Sam tipped his head to one side.

"No, you're definitely Daisy."

"Huh!" Sam made a face at his brother and started to gather up dirty clothes strewn around the floor. "You coulda gone downtown to the laundrette, y'know? I thought it was your turn to wash?"

"Can't drink and drive," Sammy "It's against the law." Dean held up his beer. "Grab a beer, Bro. Sit with me a while."

"You're drunk, Dean," Sam snagged a beer out of the fridge.

"I'm not drunk," Dean said. He belched, giggled and then added. "Well, I'm not _very_ drunk."

Sam shook his head with a grin. They were silent for a few minutes, and then Sam glanced at his brother. "So, your hand—it's healing? You haven't let me change the bandages in a couple days."

"S'fine, Sammy." Dean took another pull of his beer and then held up the bottle, shaking it. "Empty."

"What's on your mind, Dean?"

"Huh? Oh nothin'. I just wanted to chill awhile." Dean flashed him a grin. "What about you, Bro? You must have _somethin'_ deep and meaningful to talk about." He smirked. "You always do."

"Yeah?" Sam shook his head.

"Sure you do!" Dean got up, putting his empty beer bottle on the table and snagging another, popping the lid.

"You would think that, wouldn't you, with all the shit we go through." Sam took a swallow of beer. "Truth is—nothin's real important, except us."

Dean glanced at his brother and moved to sit at the table, beer in hand, leaning his elbows on the smooth surface."

"I mean, in the grand scheme of things, we don't belong to shit—Dad's dead, law's after us—fuck we have _hunters_ after us. We have each other, it's just you and me, Dean."

"See? D&M, that's you, Sammy." Dean raised his beer in salute.

"D and who?"

"D and M, it stands for deep and meaningful, dufus!" Dean laughed. "You forgot the demon, he's after us too."

"Asshole!" Sam laughed, took an M&M out of the open packet on the table and threw it at his brother who tried to catch it in his mouth, but missed.

"Damn, toss me another, and work on your aim!"

"S'been pretty quiet these last couple weeks," Sam tossed another M&M, his gaze fixed on those kissable lips, grinning when Dean caught the candy.

Dean gave a hoot of triumph, laughed, choked and then doubled over in a fit of coughing.

"Shit!" Sam was at his brother's side in an instant. "You're supposed to chew it, not inhale it, you jerk."

Choking, gasping for air, Dean blindly reached out, fisting Sam's shirt in both hands and looked up. "K-kiss of life, Sam!" He spluttered.

Catching on, Sam grinned and leaned in close, covering Dean's lips with his own. He smiled against his brother's mouth. Dean passed the candy from his mouth into Sam's. Sam pulled back, wrinkling his nose. "Oh that's gross, dude!" He swallowed the candy.

"You're so easy to con, baby."

"Yeah, you think?" Sam moved to straddle his brother's lap, his heart beating a little faster. Dean might have used an old and corny trick to accomplish it, but that had been the first kiss they'd shared in almost two weeks. "Don't really matter if I am or not," He leaned in, venturing another kiss. "Got you at my back, Bro."

"Mmmm," Dean replied, he shifted in his seat, pressing upwards against Sam's ass. "Sammy," he whispered, his hands lightly stroking up and down Sam's arms. "I’ve always got you."

Sam leaned back a little, thrilling to the feel of Dean's hardness pressing into his ass through their jeans. "It has been pretty quiet, lately," he repeated.

"Yeah, the demon must be on compassionate leave." Dean grinned. "After all, he did lose two kids." His lip curled a little at the memory.

Sam leaned in, pressing his advantage, and yeah, maybe he was taking advantage because Dean was drunk, but it had been almost two weeks with little to no contact between them. He kissed along Dean's jaw, moaning with need when Dean tipped his head back for him, letting Sam have access to his throat.

"Nice place here," Sam murmured, nuzzling and nipping at Dean's neck. "Food's decent, rooms are modern; bed's enormous…" He trailed off and gently bit Dean's earlobe.

"Yeah!" Dean drew a sharp breath and bucked under him. "Real nice, Sam."

"We could stay another week," Sam purred against Dean's ear as he began to unbutton his brother's shirt.

"I---uh, dunno," Dean panted. "Been in one place too long already."

"We could phone Ellen, let her know where we are in case anythin' turns up." Hands sliding inside, stroking warm skin, mapping old hunting scars as his fingers trailed across Dean’s chest and down over his belly, eliciting a moan.

"Babe, you know it's dangerous to stay in one place too long—oh god, _don't_ stop doin' that!" He arched his back, seeking more friction where Sam was slowly humping against him.

"Couple more days, then, okay?" Sam's fingers at the waistband of his jeans, unbuttoning them, pushing the zipper down.

"Oh geeze, so unfair—how can a man say no?" Dean shivered, the sensation of fingers caressing his cock and a hand running over his chest at the same time making him whimper.

Sam moved away from him for just long enough to strip out of his shirt, jeans and boxers and then he was back, his cock jutting, hard and weeping, nudging at Dean's belly when he leaned in for a kiss.

"Sam," Dean whispered, looking up into his brother's passion darkened eyes. "Are you—” A hard swallow. “Are you sure…"

"Shh," Sam breathed, close to his lips. "Let me." Sam pulled Dean to his feet, "Stand up a minute."

Dean got up, facing his brother and stood passively while Sam pushed his jeans down past his knees and then gently pushed him back on the chair. Sam went to his knees in front of him, taking off Dean's jeans and socks and then moving to straddle him again, skin against skin, sliding warm and silky running his hands over Dean's chest and shoulders. Dean shivered, his hands gripping the arms of the chair.

"God, no wonder you can get anyone you want," Sam whispered against Dean's throat and then pulled back, worshipping his brother with eyes, hands, and gently thrusting hips. "Look at you." He trailed a finger down Dean's chest.

"Can't help it if I got the pick of the Winchester gene pool, Sammy," Dean moaned when that finger dipped past his navel and went to the head of his dick, swirling across the tip, spreading precum.

"That guy you were with before—in Pittsburgh—what was he like?" Sam asked. He fisted his brother's cock, gently stroking him.

"Brian?" Dean's breath hitched in his throat with pleasure. "That was—oh shit!—Brian who?" Dean grinned, thrusting into Sam's hand, needing more friction.

"What'd he look like?" Sammy bent to suck one of Dean's nipples into his mouth, and then moved to the other.

Dean frowned, closing his eyes. "Why are you askin' about?"

"Just tell me," Sam said. He nipped sharply at Dean's skin, bringing a tormented moan from his brother's throat.

"Hmmm," Dean sighed. "He had short dark-blonde hair and brown eyes—kinda boyish features and a mouth—like an angel and he knew how to use it." Dean yelped at a sharp bite to his nipple. He rested his hands on Sam's hips, running them up to the small of Sam's back and down again, gripping firm buttocks, trying to push Sam harder against his aching cock.

Sam lifted his head, fisting one hand into Dean's hair at the back of his head, he pulled him in and kissed him hard. "Like this?"

"Your kisses are better, Sam. Seriously."

Sam smiled, kissed him again, hard; he took Dean's lower lip into his mouth, sucking on it while he continued to rock in his brother's lap.

Moaning, Dean arched his back, pressing upwards. "Sam, I need…"

"Shhh," Sam soothed him. "I'll have to keep practising to make sure my technique stays top of your list."

Sammy, I only went to Pittsburgh cause I was pissed at you going away to school. He was—just there. He was—I—oh fuck, Sammy!" Dean whimpered, squirming in the chair, pinned by his brother's weight, while Sam was doing some wicked things with that mouth of his on the sensitive flesh of Dean's neck.

"Bet he took one look at you and thought Santa Claus had come early," Sam purred.

"Huh! He didn't believe in Santa Claus." Dean bucked, gripping Sam's hips, trying to get his brother to press harder against him. "He only ever believed in money and sex, Sammy."

"You paid him?" Sam's teeth sank into his shoulder and Dean yelped.

"No! I have never paid for a fuck, Sam."

 Sam grinned against Dean's shoulder, lapping the place he had bitten to soothe it. "Thought my big bro was goin' soft there for a minute."

"No way, Sammy," Dean proved it by pushing his straining cock upwards. He reached up to cup Sam's face between his hands. "He did you a favour, babe."

"Oh?"

"He told me to ‘go back home and fuck the guy I was thinkin' of when he fucked me.’"

"Well, thanks, Brian." Sam sat back, meeting Dean's eyes and sucked two fingers into his mouth, he slid the digits slowly in and out between pursed lips, coating them with spit, watching as Dean's teeth clamped down on his kiss swollen lower lip. "Hot for me, Big brother?" Sam took his fingers from his mouth, reaching behind himself to slide the spit moistened fingers across his ass before dipping one finger into himself.

"Ohh, Jesus!" Dean's voice was breathless, rough with need. "Soo hot!" He rested his hands on Sam's shoulders, pulling him down to kiss him, lips parting to Sam's tongue, letting Sam set the pace. He looked into the green eyes when Sam pulled back. "Want _you_ , Sammy, only you."

"Not goin' anywhere," Sam whispered. He shifted, his hand wrapping around Dean's cock, holding him while he guided his brother into him, slowly sinking down.

 

Dean's fingers tightened around Sam's shoulders. He threw his head back, eyes closed as he felt himself slowly engulfed in silken heat. "Sammy—please—please—oh God!" Fear and desire warred within him and he moaned softly. _Please, please, please don't let me hurt him_ , Dean prayed silently. He made a husky sound of need in his throat as Sam's mouth came down on his and Sam began to slowly ride him.

"God, yeah," Dean panted when Sam's mouth pulled away, letting him up for air. He ran his hands from his brother's shoulders, over his chest and belly to rest them on Sam's thighs.

"Feels good inside me," Sam whispered. "Feels right."

_So tight, so hot_ , Dean thought. "Sam—Sam—Sammy," he chanted. "Feels good for me, too, babe." Sam lifted up, steadying himself with his hands on Dean's shoulders and then came down again, hard, driving Dean deep within his body. "Fuck, SAAAM!"

"That's the idea," Sam moaned in reply, He caught Dean's hand in his and guided it to his weeping cock. "Stroke me," he hissed and adjusted his rhythm to match Dean's strokes.

"Oh yeah, ride me, Sam." Dean's free had moved to rest on the base of Sam's spine, helping to steady him as their pace picked up. He moved as much as he was able, trying to meet Sam's thrusts, and keep up the steady rhythm of stroking but his movements were erratic, uncoordinated. He looked up at Sam from under hooded lids, watching his beautiful brother, flushed, sweaty, his head thrown back, his body given over to pleasure. _God, want to burn that image of him onto my brain—want him like this, always—never, never hurt him again!_

"Dean—please! Please, Dean…" Sam arched his back, driving himself harder, faster.

"Love to see you like this, Sam—Sa…" He bit his lip trying to drive himself upwards to meet Sam's downstrokes, twisting his wrist to bring his thumb over the tip of Sam's cock, a strangled cry wrung from his throat when Sam's body clamped down on him, pulling his orgasm from him. Dean convulsed, his whole body twitching with the force of his climax, feeling Sam's come spill onto his chest, his belly, flowing over his fingers when he gently squeezed, milking every drop from Sam's body.

"Dean," Sam whispered, leaning in to nuzzle at his brothers neck. "Dean—Dean…"

"I'm here. I got you." Dean pulled him close, holding him, kissing his shoulder, running his hands up and down Sam's back.

"Damn, that was—amazing," Sam said once he found breath to speak.

" _You're_ amazing, Sam." Dean looked up into his brother's eyes when Sam leaned back.

"Are we okay?" Sam's green eyes searched his face and Dean felt sudden tears well to his eyes.

"I hope so," Dean said, his voice thick with tears, which Sam gently brushed away with his thumbs.

"Does this mean we can stay another day, at least?" He smiled, leaning his forehead against Dean's. "I'd like to."

Dean chuckled. "Well, since y'asked so nicely."

 


	3. Chapter 3

Dean parked the Impala outside the motel room and got out of the car, carrying the small sack of groceries he'd bought in town. He went to the trunk, opening it with the key and took out the duffel full of clean laundry. As he walked towards their room, two young women came out of the room next to theirs. He looked them over. It was a reflex to check out any pretty woman within a hundred yards, and to give them extra scrutiny if they were within proximity of where he and Sam were staying. That second part was not only because they were women, though. He would always scope who was around near their room as an automatic safety precaution. He smiled when one of the girls looked over at him. "Ladies."

"Oh, hi!" The girl came over to him, dark hair, wide dark eyes, soft, pretty mouth and… Dean forced his eyes back to her face, softly parting and licking his lips so that they shone plump and inviting which he knew was a sure fire way to get and hold a woman's attention. "My name's Miriam," the girl said. "That's my…sister, Sherri. We’re new around here and wondered if you could suggest a good place to get dinner?"

"Yeah, there's a nice diner just down the street. You can walk there from here." Dean nodded and smiled to the other girl and juggled his groceries a little, the sack was getting heavy.

"Thank you so much," Miriam laid hand on his arm as she spoke. "Well, we won't keep you." She smiled and turned to her sister.

Dean watched them walk away and then set down the laundry, slotting his key into the lock and stepping inside.

Sam was munching on an apple and reading a Stephen King novel.

"Stephen King?" Dean shook his head. "Dude, seriously…"

"Oh get off it," Sam shot back. "It's good escapism." He grinned and bit into his apple, munching as he closed the book and set it aside. "It’s about time you got back; I've been waiting on clean underwear so I could shower." As he spoke, Sam got up and began to rummage through the duffel.  "Be back soon." He headed into the bathroom and Dean set about unpacking the few items he'd picked up from the store. Mostly fruit, some bread and butter, cold cuts; the things Sam used to make those lunches he took up the trail to the lake on his almost daily hikes. 

\-- 

In a small diner, not far away, Miriam and Sherri sat in one of the booths. They had deliberately chosen one near the end of the little eatery, away from other customers, drinking coffee and doing whatever mortal beings do to fill in their mundane, useless existences.

"Do you really think it was wise to speak to him?" Sherri looked at her sister across the table. "The Winchesters don't have the reputation they have gained for nothing."

"Oh relax," Miriam said. "He didn't suspect. I wanted to speak to him, it will make what comes later that much more fun, when I watch the realisation dawn in his eyes, that he was so close to me and didn't know—that he might have killed us both if he'd only been more alert." She smirked. "They've grown careless. Our father was right to ease the pressure on them for a while. It makes our task that much more pleasant."

"I just hope that it is over and done with soon," Sherri said. "I detest these little towns." She glanced around the room with a sneer. "I want to go back to the city where the pickings are easy and the kills exciting."

"Rest assured little sister. From what I have heard of these brothers, their relationship to one another is volatile at the best of times. It won't be long before they get into a—disagreement, and separate."

"We're gambling on a lot," Sherri complained. "That Sam will be the one to leave the room—that they will forget the salt lines…"

"They'll forget.  _That_  part is not a gamble."

"What do you mean?"

"I am not without influence over a mortal mind, even if I don't possess it," Miriam said. "After all, that's my specialty, and why our father chose me for this particular task. 

\--

Dean lounged on the bed, one hand holding a bottle of beer. He idly followed the storyline of the show playing out on the television, but half of his attention was on other things. Where to go after they left this motel, for one. Sam hadn't found anything in the papers recently to indicate a case. Ash's radar was clear, it was like the forces of evil had called a time-out or something. Dean hated it.

Sure it was nice to get some downtime once in a while and it was true that at least while they were not on a hunt, Dean didn't feel that dark influence that had come over him during every hunt since Dad died. But after three days of nothing, it was wearing a little thin. He thought they might move on in a day or so. Staying put too long made him nervous.

Sam glanced up from the book he had buried his nose back into after his shower. "Would you quit that?"

"What?"  Dean frowned at him. "I'm just lying here watching TV, having a drink…" 

"And you're shaking the entire room with that nervous tic or whatever it is in your leg. Quit it."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Sorry, geeze!"

They were silent again for a while. Sam put his nose back in his book while Dean divided his attention between the TV screen and Sam, watching long, slim fingers turning the pages, the flicker of Sam's eyelashes as he scanned the printed words and the expressions that chased across his handsome face as he followed the story.

Of course, Sam being Sam, he soon became aware of his brother's scrutiny. He placed a thumb to mark where he was on the page and gave Dean a pained look. "Dude—can't you just chill?"

"I'm bored!" Dean complained. "You're about as much company as a bump on a log. Why don't you  _talk_  to me or somethin'?"

"Whaddya wanna talk about?" Sam gave a deep sigh, put a bookmark between the pages of the novel and laid it aside.

"Whatever you want, you choose." Dean flicked the television off with the remote. He watched while Sam thought for a moment.

"Okay," Sam looked into his eyes. "So, this Brian person you were with in Pittsburgh, he really taught you everything you know about sex?"

Dean groaned, but he had told Sam it was his choice so now he would just have to suck it up. "You seem awfully interested in Brian, Sam. Want me to take  _you_  to Pittsburgh?"

"Nope, there's only one guy on god's green earth getting my ass," Sam said.

"You better believe it! So, why all the interest?"

 "Edcuation," Sam told him.

Dean snorted. "Huh, you don't need educatin' Sammy." He leered in a way that made Sam blush.

"I only know what you've shown me," Sam said. "S'why I ask."

"Yeah, and that's exactly how I want it," Dean said.

"Until you get tired and start lookin' around for someone else."

"Till I what?" Dean shook his head. "What makes you think I could ever get bored with you, Sam?"

"Dean, I've never honestly believed you're going to stick around when this is over—you're going to go back to screwin' all those cute chicks that fling themselves at you, and the guys that can't keep their hands off of you."

"Yeah? You out and out told me you wanna go back to ' _bein' a person._ '" Dean scoffed. "You wanna go back to school, be normal, and have a life."  He shook his head. "What's the problem, dude?"

"You're right. There isn't one—think I need to take a walk." Sam stood up as he spoke; reaching for his hoodie and slipping it on over the dark grey t-shirt he wore.

"Sam! Don't you fuckin' do this!" Dean got to his feet, moving to block Sam's way.

"You honestly think that I could go back to being me? After everything?" Sam snorted, shook his head.

Dean put a hand on Sam's chest. "Don't walk away." He looked into his brother's eyes, exerting gentle pressure to hold Sam when he made to step past him. "I don't know what to think. Sam." Dean closed his eyes for a moment. "We're brothers. I can't give you a future—not the way you've always dreamed about. You and me can never settle down and be a couple openly. I can't give you a home and kids and...' _normal_.' I don't see the sense in foolin' ourselves, Sammy."

"Sammy's dead, Dean. He died aged six-months old when all this crap started—and me? I tried to be what he could have been had he got to grow up, but guess what—you just don't get to live out someone else’s life.  _You_  taught me that. Normal doesn’t belong in the Winchester family. 

Dean frowned.  "Are—are you sayin' you don't wanna go back to school? You don't wanna..." he swallowed hard. "You're not going to..." Dean couldn't voice the words aloud.  _Leave me again?_

"We could meet some ugly fucker tomorrow and this whole gig would be over," Sam said. "But if you were left—fuck—you could just slip right back into being Mr Cool. It's the way you operate."

"You're so sure of that, aren't you?" 

“Jess is dead. The life I had doesn’t exist anymore."

"What about all those friends who email you?" Dean challenged. "You still got them, right?"

"Oh sure! Wanna know the last time I heard from any of them? Eight months ago, Dean. They've all moved on—graduated and are part of a whole new setup."

"Huh." 

"Now if you don't mind, I really think I need some air." Sam determinedly pushed past him.

Dean rolled his eyes.  "Sure thing, knock y'self out," he said to his brother's retreating back.  _I just don't know what to do to make you happy_. Dean threw himself on the bed.  _I don't know what you want from me_. He lay down and closed his eyes, suddenly very tired. 

Dean rolled onto his stomach.  _That's unfair, you thinking my life would just go on without you. It wouldn't. You’re more likely to slip back into anonymity and have a life—bout the only thing waitin for me is a life on the run from the cops, or prison if I get tired of runnin._  Dean drifted into fitful sleep.

\-- 

Sam crossed the motel courtyard and walked into the street. He glanced up and down the deserted road for a moment and then decided that he would go to the diner where he and Dean had eaten a few meals since coming to Windsor. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans, head down and mind racing. A few hundred feet from the motel, a dark-haired woman passed him, greeting him with a cheery 'hi,' which he acknowledged with a small grin.

 

He stepped into the diner a few minutes later. It was crowded, every seat in the place seemed to be occupied. Sam frowned, looking around and then spied a pretty brunette sitting alone at one of the booths, her head bent over a book. He made his way over. "Do you mind if I join you?" He gestured to the crowded room and gave her his best placating smile. "The place is pretty busy, and this is the last seat left." 

The girl closed her book and looked up at him. She smiled waving him to the other side of the booth. "It gets a little crowded here on Friday nights," she said. "I'm Sherri." 

"Sam." Sam offered her his hand, "Something goin' on in town to bring all these folks here on the weekend?"

"Most of the people here are locals," Sherri replied. "I guess the food's good, and it's close to home."

Sam nodded, casting a glance at the novel Sherri had been reading. "Stephen King?" He grinned. "You like horror stories?"

"I guess so," Sherri replied with a small laugh. "I like to read something that scares me a little," She said

"Same here," Sam replied with a smile. "Can I—can I get you another coffee, or something?"

"At least I know it's just a story. Not like the monsters really exist. It's good escapism," Sherri nodded. "And I'd love another coffee." She slipped the book into her purse.

"It would be kinda freaky if those things really did come out at night," Sam said. "He motioned to a waitress and ordered two coffees.

"Oh, believe me! I think if I saw something like Cujo for real? I'd die right there on the spot." Sherri laughed and Sam found himself joining in.

"Yeah, I think I would, too. Still, not likely to be too many possessed dogs 'round here, huh?"

Sherri smiled and met his eyes. "So, where're you from, Sam?"

"Lawrence Kansas, originally, but I've been on a road trip—you know, takin' time outta college just to see a little of what's out there."

"Oh, a road trip? Sounds nice," Sherri replied.

"You'd think so, wouldn't you?" Sam sighed. "Getting a bit tired of it to be honest—most of these small towns look the same—mind you, this is the only one with you in it." Sam winced.  _Oh man, you're the last of the big time cassanovas!_

Sherri picked up her coffee when it arrived, sipping it and meeting Sam's eyes across the table. "So, you could go back to college. What was your major?" 

"Law, I'm reading law. If I get through, it'll surprise me."

"Why would that surprise you?" Sherri angled her head to one side.

"Sometimes it's a little hard to focus—family stuff—kinda throws me off." 

"Ohh!" Sherri rolled her eyes. "'Nuff said," she chuckled. 

Sam looked into wide, empathetic brown eyes and felt a twinge of loneliness. It had been a long time since anyone seemed to understand or sympathise with anything he had to say. He licked his lips, glancing down at his hands on the table, and then looked at her again. "Say, is there anything else to do around town? A bar—nightclub or anything?" He thought he saw disappointment flicker in her eyes for a moment, but it was gone before he was sure.

"Oh, there's a little hotel, about a quarter mile from here. They have some music, pool. The usual stuff." 

"I—uh—I hope you won't think I'm too forward, but, I don't suppose you'd be interested in getting outta here for a little while?" 

Sherri glanced around the diner, obviously considering his invitation. Sam fretted. Maybe he'd pushed too far, too soon. He was about to retract the offer when Sherri turned her amazing eyes on him again.

"Oh what the hey!" She said. "I'd love to." 

"Great!" Sam grinned and stood up, holding a hand out to her.

They stepped out into the night and Sam glanced up at the sky full of stars. He gave a little sigh and glanced at the woman by his side. "One thing about the country, though," he said. "You get to see how vast our galaxy really is."

Sherri looked up. "Yes. It's nice out, this time of year." 

"I don't get out a lot in the evenings, my br— I  spend most evenings planning where to go next. Don't often get to appreciate a nice night." He was rambling and he knew it. Sam sighed.

"You travel alone?" 

"No, with my brother. He wasn't feeling so good," Sam lied—he wasn’t inclined to get into all the issues about his relationship with Dean. "I decided I'd get out and let him get some rest."

"That's very considerate of you," Sherri said.

They walked on in silence until they came to the little pub that Sherri had mentioned. Sam held the door for her and ushered her inside, making so bold as to rest his hand at the small of her back as they looked for a table. 

\-- 

Dean muttered in his sleep, rolling onto his back. He dreamed of hunting a werewolf with John, and of the Wendigo he and Sam had hunted down not long after he'd picked his brother up from Stanford. He dreamed, too, of lying, cuddled close to Sam, surrounded by the warmth of his large frame. 

He reached out in his sleep, seeking that warmth and hitched closer when his hand encountered the rise of a hip. "Sammy," he whispered sleepily, vaguely processing and being glad his brother had come back. 

Burying his face against a shoulder, Dean chuckled when hair tickled his nose. "Y'need a haircut, Sam." And suddenly, Dean was wide awake.  _Sam's hair is not that long_ , he thought, an instant before the creature lying beside him pounced. 

"Fuck!" Dean yelled as claw-like hands closed on his shoulders and he was borne down with inhuman pressure. He struggled to no avail, staring into the glowing, fiery eyes of a she-devil. 'How the hell did it get in here?' 

"Hello, Dean," the creature said. Her foetid breath made him choke and turn away. "What's the matter, angel? Don't you like me anymore? You seemed impressed when we met outside this afternoon." The thing changed its form, becoming the pretty young woman he'd spoken to not four hours ago.

"Let me go, bitch!" He fought against her grasp.

"Ohhh, really that's no way to talk to a lady, baby boy!" She reverted to her true form, and leaned in close, her tongue snaking out to caress his lips. 

"Guh!" Dean spluttered, turning his face as far into the pillow as he could manage. "Sam!" 

"Your brother can't hear you, angel. He's—a little preoccupied." The demon pressed closer. "You mortal fools. None of you can resist a Lillin." She laughed and forced Dean's face to her, covering his mouth with her lips. 

\-- 

Sam guided Sherri to a corner table and they sat down. "What would you like to drink?" he asked. 

"Gin and tonic," Sherri replied, she glanced towards where a band played country music, smiling and tapping her fingers on the table to the beat. 

Sam ordered drinks from a waitress who hovered by the table. "I never asked what it is you do," he said. 

"Oh, a little bit of this, little bit of that," Sherri replied. "I'm kind of involved with the family business." She smiled. "And it's really boring, so that's all I'm going to say." 

Sam took a mouthful of his beer, staring into Sherri's eyes across the table.  _Such deep eyes_ , he thought.  _They remind me of…_  "You don't say?" He replied. "That's kind of ironic. I'm involved in what you might call a family business too." He held up his hands. "Like yours, it's boring, so…" 

Sherri grinned at him. "Do—would you like to dance?" 

He set down his beer and got up, offering her his hand. "I'm not real good at it, but—if you're willing to brave having your toes trodden on…" 

She slipped easily into his arms and they swayed in time to the music. She felt good, pressed against him. Sam closed his eyes, breathing the scent of her hair and listening as she hummed to the music. He thought of Jess and how good she had felt the first time he held her in his arms.  _God I miss her_ , he thought. 

"You dance very well, Sam," Sherri murmured. She moved to lay her head against his chest. 

Sam tensed and pulled back a little. A sudden, glaring flash of fire raced through his mind's eye. Sam shook his head, trying to clear it, and then he saw Jess's face, stark with horror as flames engulfed her. He heard Dean's voice.  _Sam! Sam, get outta here! There's nothin' you can do! C'mon!_  

Sam let Sherri go and stumbled backwards a few paces. "Fuck!" he muttered.  _What am I doin' here?_  

"Sam?" 

Sherri tried to take hold of his hand, but he pulled away from her. "Sherri, I'm sorry, I—I need—I can’t—I can't do this." 

"Okay, uh, we can go if you want." 

"No. No. I—uh—I just have to get back to the motel. My brother. I—I'm sorry." Sam turned and bolted out of the pub.   

 --

"Yeah, fuck you," Dean grunted, struggling harder against the demon as she straddled him. Her hands were on his chest, stroking and Dean flinched from her touch whilst at the same time, despite his revulsion; his body reacted exactly opposite. He felt his cock growing hard. Renewing his struggles, Dean  took a deep breath. "SAAAM!" 

The Lillin struck him hard across the face. "He can't hear you, fool! Your brother has left you! 

\--

Running hard, filled with an inexplicable dread, Sam pounded along the street and sprinted into the motel courtyard. He didn't know  _what_  was wrong, only that he had to get to Dean as fast as possible. He reached the door of their room just in time to hear his brother scream his name.

"Shit!" Sam tried the door, finding it locked and he hadn't taken the key. "DEAN?" He shouted. Sam stepped back and threw his whole weight against the door bursting it open, almost sprawling headlong into the room. 

"Guuuugh!" Dean growled.

Sam looked towards the bed where he could see a hulking, misshapen creature kneeling on the mattress. It's form was hunched over and there was something— _someone_  pinned under it. 

"Dean!" 

"One step closer and I will tear your brother's throat out," the creature said. It turned to Sam and he stumbled back from it a pace. Its eyes were hollow, glowing, unfathomably deep and it bared rows of sharp teeth at him. 

Sam held his hands out to each side, palm up in a gesture of appeasement. "All right, don't hurt him."

Sam could see clearer as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. The thing had its claw like hands around Dean's neck, choking him.  "Please," he said, looking from Dean's face to the creature. "Let him go."

"Uugh!" Dean choked.

Sam stared into his brother’s frantic eyes, feeling helpless.  _I should never have left him_. 

"What do you want?" Sam asked the creature.  _How the fuck did it get in here?_  His eyes searched the room and he realised with an icy chill that there were no salt lines. The one thing their father had taught them was absolute first priority at night fall, and they'd let it slide. Sam closed his eyes. 

"What—do I—want?" The creature turned her eyes to the helpless man pinned under her. She leaned in and kissed Dean's mouth, her tongue making a slow wet trail across his lips. 

Dean grunted in disgust. "Bitch!"

"You desire me," the creature whispered to Dean and Sam was horrified to hear an answering moan of need.

"Sa—m," Dean choked. "Li—llin."

 _Shit!_  Sam wrinkled his nose. In all the time that he and his brother had been hunting, they'd never encountered one of these bitches. He searched his memory for what they knew of them.  _One of the most ancient demons known to man—most often manifests as a desirable young woman—preys on children, but is also known to have a strong and irresistible sexual attraction for men…_  He took a half step towards the bed. The Lillin snapped her head around at him, hissing through her teeth. 

Sam held up his hands again. "Aren't you a little hideous for this line of work?" He glanced at his brother. "Your standards are slippin' Dean." 

"Nnngh!" Dean struggled, turning the Lillin's attention back to him. "Saaaa…" his voice cut off as the demon tightened her grip on his throat.

Sam took advantage of the distraction to whip the small iron-bladed pen knife from his pocket, slashing at the Lillin’s upper arm. It was enough. She turned on him, howling, and let go of his brother.

Sam found himself thrown backwards by an invisible force. He landed in a tangle of limbs against the wall. The Lillin was upon him in an instant. She dug her talons into his shoulders and turned to Dean who had rolled off the bed and advanced on her, half crouched, ready to fight. 

"You think this weakling cares about you?" The Lillin hissed at Dean. "You're a fool. He doesn't, you know." She looked at Sam. "Tell your brother where you were!" Her claws raked his skin through the layers of clothing and Sam grunted with pain. He had nothing to hide. He looked his brother in the eye. "I was with a girl," he said softly. 

"And what you were doing," The Lillin prompted.

"Talking, we were fucking talking!" Sam struggled, trying to push her weight off of him.

"He was seducing her." The Lillin laughed. 

"Dean, I wasn't!" 

"You planned to!" The Lillin ran one hand down Sam's chest, her touch caused his skin to tingle and his breath to hitch. 

"Yeah, so what?" Dean said. "What's it to me if my little brother gets lucky?" 

"He told you he loves you, Dean." The Lillin cooed. "And the first pretty girl he sees…" She leaned close to Sam and her lips teased across his. "You wanted her, Sammy, didn't you?" She kissed him and Sam groaned into her mouth, craving her kiss in spite of himself. "Don't call me Sammy," he growled between clenched teeth.

"Okay, I've had enough of your little floor show." Dean snatched a small silver flask from the bedside and took off the cap, splashing the contents at the Lillin. "Have a drink, on the house," he said.

The Lillin shrieked when the water hit her skin. She released Sam and blundered away, clawing at her face.

"Holy water," Dean smirked. "You shoulda seen that comin."

"Dean!" Sam rolled to hands and knees, scrambling towards the duffel with their weapons in it, but he was halted by the Lillin who picked him up bodily and slammed him into a wall, one hand holding him pinned by his throat, his feet kicking helplessly for purchase, several inches above the floor. 

"Put him down!" Dean splashed more holy water. 

With an unholy shriek, the Lillin let Sam go. 

"Dean, Dean, I…" Sam choked stumbling towards his brother. 

"Later, Sammy," Dean pushed Sam behind him and went after the Lillin, throwing the last of the holy water at her. "I got more, bitch," he snarled.

The Lillin hissed at him one last time before she vanished. Dean kept his defensive stance for a moment, as though expecting her to come back, and then he relaxed and turned to Sam. "I think she's gone," he said. He walked over to his brother and laid a hand on his shoulder.

Sam let out a shaking breath. "I didn't salt the doors and windows," Sam said. "Oh God, Dean, I'm sorry." He dropped into a chair, exhausted. 

Dean sank down on the bed. Closing his eyes, he rubbed at his throat. "Bitch damn near strangled me," he muttered.

"You okay?" 

"Yeah." 

"Here, let me see." Sam came to him, tipping Dean's head up with a gentle hand, examining the deep bruising and claw marks on his brother's neck. "She scratched you some." 

"Uh-huh." Dean met his brother's eyes. "I hope she was worth this, Sammy. Whoever she was." He flinched away when Sam would have touched him again.

"Dean, don't please. I didn't do anything. I bought her a drink, is all."

"No, it's okay, Sam. I don't own you. I don't have any special right to you. You can go where you like, see who you like, fuck whoever you want to. Whatever makes you happy, Sam."

Sam closed his eyes. "That's just it, Dean. I can't. Not anymore."

"I think it's time we moved on," Dean said. He still rubbed his neck.

"Dean, talk to me. You won't even touch me, or let me touch you!"

"What is there to talk about, Sam?"

"Dean, sometimes the way you look at me, it scares the hell outta me. It’s like I disgust you—since the night—since we killed that hell cat."

Dean sat up, looking into Sam's eyes. "You don't disgust me." 

"You won't even touch me, Dean. What am I supposed to feel?"

"It's not about you." Dean averted his gaze.

"The other day, I made love to you and it was amazing—I thought—I had brought you back, but, it didn't last."

"I dunno what to say, Sam. What do you want from me?"

"I want you to look at me and think—he's mine. I can trust him to make me feel alive." 

"I trust you, Sam. I do." Dean shook his head. "It's me I don't trust. I never want to open my eyes again and see you lying there—hurt and know that I was the one who did that to you." 

"I won't let you hurt me again, Dean."

"You couldn't stop it last time." 

"Rape means you don't have consent," Sam said. 

"I  _know_  that!"

"Well then, you have my consent to do anything. Does that make it easier?"

"NO!" Dean  got up, grabbed Sam and shook him. "No, that doesn't make it  _easier_  Sam! Fuck! You think I _want_ to hurt you? You think I want to—to see you hurting and scared and…" He pushed Sam away from him. "Damn it!"

Sam ducked his head with a quiet sob. 

Dean sighed. "I'm sorry, Sam." 

"So am I," Sam whispered. "I just feel—empty." He looked up and met Dean's eyes. "There nothing left if we can’t get past this." 

"I don't know what to do," Dean said. 

"You've been protecting me since I was a baby," Sam replied. "Stop protecting me." 

"Huh, that's a tall order," Dean said. "It’s the only thing I know how to do properly." 

Silence stretched taut between them until Dean got up and grabbed the salt can out of the duffel, moving to lay salt lines at the doors and windows. "Tomorrow, we move on, Sam," He said. 

Sam nodded. "Okay." 

\--

In a lonely and secluded underground chamber, Miriam and her sister were licking their wounds.  
  
"I couldn't hold Sam with me any longer," Sherri said. "I'm sorry. He just didn't seem to respond the way that other mortal males do to our influence."  
  
"It doesn't matter," Miriam said. "I was with Dean long enough to make the connection." Her lips twisted in a triumphant smirk. "He will hear me." She leaned over to cup her sister's chin in one hand. "Go back to the city, sister; I can handle them from here."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ever felt like going somewhere else?  
> Away from all this chaos  
> I've been questioning my mental health  
> Praying for my day-off
> 
> I give it all but it's never enough  
> I hold on but the day's never done  
> Let me go, yeah  
> Cause I can't go on
> 
> Running from myself, running from myself  
> Zak Abel-Running from myself
> 
> * * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Trigger Warning: Depictions of self harm. Please do what you need to be safe.**

_Dean!_

Dean Winchester grunted, rolling over in his sleep and flinging an arm across the small of Sam's back.

_Dean!_

He screwed up his face and flopped onto his belly.

 _Dean Winchester!_

"Fuck it!" Dean pried one eye open and lifted his head off the pillow. Since when did some chick call his name in the middle of the night, and wake him up? 

 _Actually, it's dawn._

Dean sat up, his hand automatically reaching for the knife under his pillow. "Who said that?" 

_I did, and that knife is not going to do you any good. Put it away._

Dean scanned the room. _There's no one here,_ ' he thought. _I'm imagining things. Or dreaming...yeah it's a dream._

 _You're right, there is no-one there,_ the voice said. _I'm miles away from you, but you are not imagining me, and I'm not a dream._

 _Okay, this is officially weird_. Dean scratched at the back of his head, glancing at Sam. _Isn't he the one supposed to have visions, dream dreams? I just drive the car and blast the bad guys to hell._

Feminine laughter filled the—room?—no it just filled his head. 

"What the hell's going on here?" Dean winced as Sam groaned and rolled over. _Shit, don't wake him up; you don't wanna have to explain something you can't even work out for yourself yet._  "Who are you?" he said more quietly. "I mean, your voice seems familiar but…" In his head, Dean saw a flash of a pretty face, long dark hair dark, alluring eyes. "Wait a minute. I wasted you," 

_No, you thought you did. I let you think you did. I chose to leave, baby boy. You didn't banish me._

"Miriam."

_Very good._

"What do you want from me?" 

 _All in good time, angel. All in good time._ The mocking laughter rang out again and then there was silence. 

Dean drew a deep breath and let it go slowly. He glanced at Sam who lay prone beside him, reaching over to give his younger brother's ass a swat. "Sam! Up!" As he spoke, Dean got out of bed and headed into the shower. They'd driven all day yesterday to make Des Moines Iowa by sundown and he wanted to be on the road early again today. Sam had some crazy notion about investigating a supposed UFO sighting in Wisconsin. Dean shook his head as he started the water running, testing the temperature with one hand and then began to strip out of his clothes.

Dean was more interested in laying low, waiting for the Yellow Eyed Demon to reveal its hand, but Sammy had a way of wheedling Dean into anything Sam wanted to do, so here he was more than half way to Wisconsin and three-quarters of the way to insane.

"Hearin' voices in my head," Dean muttered as he stepped into the shower. "What the hell next?"

\--

 "Sam! Up!"

 Sam woke with a start when his brother swatted his behind. He groaned, wanting just a few minutes more. Fuck, his head hurt like he'd had a night on the booze and he knew he hadn't. Last night had been no fun. He and Dean had fought again. After the long drive from Windsor CO to Des Moines IA, they'd spent the waning afternoon and a good part of the evening at each other's throats. Sam sighed. It had been fraught.

 It started when Sam came back from buying their dinner. He'd gone to a little take-out place downtown and was pleased that he'd managed to get them a decent meal, meat and three veg, and the budget had even stretched to include pie. He walked into the room, calling his brother's name and froze in horror when he saw what Dean was doing.

"Dean, stop!" He put the sack of food he carried on the table and rushed to Dean's side, knocking the knife from his brother's hand. "Why?" He grabbed Dean by his shoulders, shook him hard. "Why, Dean!"

 "I'm sorry," Dean looked up at him. "I…"

 "No! No I won't listen to your excuses, Dean! We haven't been on a hunt, I don't get why you have to do this!"

"There was that Lillin," Dean said.

"We didn't hunt that, it came after us." Sam shook his head, pressing a clean cloth over the cut Dean had made on his chest. "Your hand's only just healed and now this?"

 Dean just shook his head, looking away from Sam. 

"How many more times, Dean?" Sam asked.

Dean swallowed hard. "I don't know. How many more freaks will we hunt till this is over?"

"We hunt them, they hunt us back and in the middle of all that, you do this…" Sam pulled the cloth away, noting that the bleeding had stopped and moved to sit at the table. "I brought dinner. Come and eat," he said.

Dean shook his head, rubbing the thumb of one hand over the healing gash on the other palm. He stared at the scar in silence. 

"Each time you do this, the wounds get deeper, Dean."

"I can't stop. I've tried," Dean said. He looked up, meeting Sam's eyes. "I get this itch and the only thing relieves it is to cut."

"When you get hurt on a hunt, does it have the same effect?" Sam asked. 

"I don't know." Dean frowned. 

"What do you mean, you don't know? It either does or it doesn't!" 

"It feels different—I don't know! What, you'd prefer I take deliberate risks out there and get hurt? You and I both know where that's gonna end!" 

"That's just it. I know where cutting yourself will end as well. Dean you could have lost the use of that hand, and how much blood do you think you can lose every other day before it has an effect on you?"

"I can control it, Sammy." Dean winced at Sam's bitter little laugh. "I can…" He sighed, relenting. "Okay so it was stupid to cut my hand. I won't cut there again."

Sam got up; knocking the chair he'd been sitting on, onto the floor. "That's not the fucking point!" He shouted. "You're hurting yourself. Why? What's out there scare you? I doubt that very much…" 

"It's not because of things out there," Dean said. "If it was because of that, it wouldn't have started until we actually faced things out…" He shut his mouth with a snap and looked away from Sam.

"What then? Me?"

"Not you, Sammy. Dad." 

"What the hell do you mean?" Sam frowned at him, perplexed and Dean just shook his head. "What the hell did Dad do to make you start this?"

"Oh c'mon, Sammy! You grew up the same as me. You saw the shit he did!"

"I saw you trying to be my Mom and Dad, Dean. That's all."

"You're tellin' me you didn't see the way he would knock me around, the way he would yell and scream at me if things weren't just how he wanted them when he came home? Fuck, if I spilled milk on the table gettin' your breakfast, I'd cop a chewing out. Or worse!" Sam closed his eyes as Dean went on. "I'd rather have faced a hundred demons than have Dad mad at me, Sam—and when he did get mad," Dean gulped. "When he did, it hurt so bad that I had to do somethin' anything to let it out—make it stop hurting."

"Dean you're not a little boy any longer you have to stop this."

"I CAN'T. I told you I've tried to stop. It only works for so long and then…" 

"Dean. I just can't deal with this—you treat me like a lover, then you rape me, then you won't touch me. You make me feel like I've done something wrong. I've told you I love you—and isn't that fucked up? I see things I don't want to see and the only person that means anything to me is killing himself!"

"I don't want to kill myself, Sammy." 

Sam laughed. "No?"

"I don't want to hurt you, either," Dean said, "I swear."

"Every time you take that knife to your body, a little part of you dies, Dean, you just don't see it." 

"No, you're wrong Sam." Dean got to his feet and moved to stand close to his brother. "That's not why I do it, Sam. That's not how it feels. When the—when that blade breaks my skin, I feel _alive!_ " 

"You're sick, Dean."

"Don't say that!" Tears flooded to the deep green eyes that gazed up at him. "Don’t—I can't stand it from you!"

\-- 

Sam sat up on the side of the bed, scrubbing at his face to chase the memory away. The weight pressing down on his chest didn't budge, though. He still wasn't even close to understanding Dean's compulsion to hurt himself in order to relieve emotional pain. _So fucked up._  He glanced up as Dean emerged from the bathroom wrapped in a towel, his hair damp, and water running over his chest.

Sam's eyes tracked over the golden skin until they reached the newly made cut and he sighed. Getting up off the bed he moved towards the bathroom. He couldn't face Dean yet—didn't need reminders of his failure to reach his brother.


	5. Chapter 5

"I tell ya, Sammy, I've about had it with this traffic," Dean grumbled as he maneuvered the Impala through morning traffic on the outskirts of Eau Claire Wisconsin.

"It's not really that heavy," Sam replied. "Let me drive if you can't handle it." He grinned at his brother's oh so predictable snort and sneer response and turned to looking out the window again. 

A few minutes later, Dean spotted a truck stop off to one side. He pulled the impala out of traffic and into the lot. "Let's get somethin' to eat," he said, glancing at Sam. "While you try and figure out an alternate route to get us away from this traffic. 

Sam nodded. "Okay, but can we eat in the car?" he glanced towards the buildings and frowned. "I don't feel like washing my breakfast down with a bunch of piss and wind about bein' 'fourwheelers.'" 

Dean grinned. "Okay, What'll it be?"

"Can you get me a carton of milk? And get a map, and…"

"What, just plain milk, or flavored?"

"Just plain milk, oh—and a bagel, if they have any and—gonna get a bag of M&M's? My stomach's startin' to feel like my throat's been cut." 

Dean laughed. "Anythin' else?"

"No, I think that'll do for now." Sam ducked his head, hiding a smile as Dean got out of the car.

_Damn kid eats like a horse,_  Dean thought as he walked across the lot and into the truck stop. 

\--

Sam watched his brother as he went into the store, his eyes trailing from Dean's broad shoulders, admiring the way the leather jacket molded itself to him, swinging just above Dean's ass as he walked. Sam let the tip of his tongue touch his bottom lip, and let out a small breath, feeling his cock give a hopeful twitch.

He looked away as Dean walked through the doors, and turned the radio on. 

… _Minocqua officials are still baffled by mysterious events that took place last Friday…_ An announcer's voice said. _Local residents flooded the police with calls after an eerie green light was seen hovering over the town. At least three people have reported sick since the incident with headaches, nausea and skin rashes. Local girl Elison Levanne remains in hospital, sedated. Her brother, Jospeh Levanne has not been seen since Friday afternoon..._

Sam frowned, listening to the report, and glanced up as his brother got back into the car. He switched the radio off and took the bag his brother held out to him. "There's been another UFO sighting," he said as he took a bagel out of the bag. 

"Oh c'mon, Sam. A UFO? Please."

"What, you don't believe in aliens?"

"I dunno what all might be out there," Dean waved his hand in a general skywards direction. "I haven't ever seen a UFO or an alien. We got enough freaks of our own, without lookin' to the stars for more of 'em." He glanced at the road, checking the traffic and then took another bagel from the bag. 

"That doesn't mean they don't exist," Sam said. He pulled the map his brother had got from the truck stop out of the bag. "The siting was in a town called Minocqua—it's about a hundred and sixty miles from here."

"That's a long drive," Dean said.

"I'll take my turn." Sam licked his lips, running his eyes over Dean. "God you're gorgeous." He could have sworn that, just for an instant, Dean blushed.

"Uh—thanks." Dean looked away, checking the traffic conditions again.

Sam grinned, knowing he had momentarily rendered his brother speechless. He sucked the rest of the milk from the carton Dean had brought him, making loud slurping noises with the straw and narrowed his eyes, yes, he was almost certain, Dean had blushed. He chuckled. "I'm only sayin' what half the guys inside there were thinkin'." He shook his head. He'd never imagined that Dean could blush like that.

Dean finished his bagel and swiped the back of his hand across his mouth. Even the way he did that, was hot. Sam bit his lip. God, Dean was driving him crazy without even realizing it. He rattled the map, bringing Dean's attention back to him. "Dean, head outta yer ass and drive or we'll wind up sleeping in the car!"

"Yeah, yeah, keep your shirt on," Dean grumbled. He started the car and eased it out onto the highway again. "You're supposed to be findin' me a way out of this traffic, Sam," Dean said after a moment. He glanced over at his brother and raised an eyebrow. "So?"

"Dean, do you have any idea where we are?" 

"Hey, you're the navigator, Sammy, I just do the drivin." Dean frowned. "We're just outside Eau Claire. I suppose if you wanna go lookin' for _The Enterprise,_ you'd better find out how to get to…what'd you call it? Minocqua?"

"Yeah." Sam grinned, looking down at the map. "This road leads to…" He grimaced, turning the map this way and that. "What the hell kind of map is this? Keep driving. We're bound to see a signpost sooner or later."

"Are you serious?" Dean looked over at him and Sam bit his lip.

"I think I got us lost," he said apologetically.

"Lost?" Dean shook his head and slapped one hand against the wheel. "Great!"

"Hey, man, this friggin map is all over the place!"

"You'd better keep your eyes peeled for a signpost then. I don't wanna be wastin' gas."

"There's a rest area," Sam said. "Pull over."

Muttering under his breath, Dean shook his head, easing the car over to the side and cutting the engine. "Sam I…"

Sam leaned towards him. "C'mere, Dean," he said.

Sam's voice was soft and smoky, sending a sharp thrill through Dean. Biting on his lower lip, Dean turned to his brother and moaned when Sam's lips captured his.

"Truce?" Sam whispered. He ran his hands over Dean's chest to his stomach, settling at the waist of his jeans, fingers working at the buttons, and then sliding the zipper down.

"Jesus, Sammy—here?"

"Why not? Want to make you feel good," Sam whispered. He slipped his hand inside his brother's jeans and shorts, seeking out the eager cock he knew awaited him. 

"We’re on the side of the interstate," Dean said, but his hips pushed up against Sam's hand, giving the lie to his words.

"Yeah," Sam replied. "We’re halfway between dullsville and deadsville." He pulled Dean's cock out of his pants and eased himself down on the seat, taking his brother's cock into his mouth. 

Dean chuckled. "Neither of which I'm keen to visit anytime soon…ohhh fuck, take me to heaven babe!" Dean let his head fall back on the seat and closed his eyes. He groaned deep in his throat, giving himself up to the wicked ministrations of his brother's mouth as Sam began to suck him with long, slow strokes. "God, you're so hot, Sammy," Dean gnawed on his lower lip, watching his brother through half lidded eyes, his pupils blown with passion.

Sam let Dean out of his mouth for a moment, taking his time to lick the beautiful cock from root to tip, sliding the tip of his tongue into the tiny slit, tasting pre-come. He looked up for a moment. "Like that, big brother?" He lapped the slit again, keeping his eyes on Dean's face as he did so. _Sometimes that porn channel can come in really handy with ideas._

"Guh! Oh yeah," Dean panted, carding his fingers through Sam's hair. "Just like—like that!" He arched his back with a moan as Sam took him back into his mouth and right to the back of his throat. Sam hummed softly around him driving Dean to new heights.

"Sam—Sammy—Sa…" Dean chanted, gently thrusting wanting to be as deep in Sam's mouth and throat as he could get. He tensed when Sam responded by sucking harder. Dean fisted one hand into Sam's hair, urging him on with moans and whispers of encouragement.

Sam pulled back a little, breaking his momentum for an instant, to whisper, "Give it up, Dean," his breath blew hot across the tip of Dean's cock before he swallowed it again.

"Ohh…God!" Dean groaned. "Ohh, Sammy—Sam—I'm gonna…" Dean convulsed, his entire body twitching with the force of his climax.  He sobbed feeling Sam's throat work around him as his brother swallowed, drinking his essence until Dean was spent.

Sam let his brother's cock out of his mouth and sat up, nuzzling against Dean's cheek. "Feel better?"

Dean turned to him with a slow, lazy smile. "I was wondering where you'd get your breakfast protein from," he murmured, kissing Sam, tasting himself on his brother's tongue.

"Better for me than M&Ms," Sam said. "I bet you wish you'd taught me that, sooner…" He grinned.

Dean laughed a genuine sound of amusement. He tucked himself away and straightened his clothes. "Oh Sammy," he said. "You crack me up." He started the impala. "I wish I'd taught you that five years ago, 'stead of lettin' you run away from me."

Sam picked up the map, absently licking his lips. "The next exit will take us onto WI 29," he said. "We follow that most of the way to Minocqua." He looked over at Dean, grinning at his brother's narrow eyed look. "I rarely get lost," he said.

"I knew that," Dean retorted.

Sam scoffed. "Oh, you soo did not!" 

Dean just grinned. "I'll take us the next fifty miles; you can have it from there."

"Okay." Sam folded the map, smiling to himself and settled back to sleep until it was his turn to drive.

 


	6. Chapter 6

"They have a little resort with cabins in this town." Sam was bent over a local directory, sipping coffee as he flicked through the pages, sitting in a diner, his brother opposite. He looked up. "We could take one," he suggested. "Kinda make this job a working vacation?"

Dean smirked, taking another mouthful of coffee. "We could make it a vacation, period. I'm not interested in alien abductions, dude."

Sam shook his head. "We don't know that this is an alien abduction, Dean. It could be a spirit of some kind. A guy is missing, a little girl locked up in the psyche ward? I mean, her story has gotta be worth checking out. She says her brother isn't her brother…"

Dean sighed. "Let's just think about finding a place to stay, first," he said. "I could use a few hours sleep." He frowned. "I've been waking a lot during the night.

"Huh," Sam said softly. "Okay."

\--

The cabins were clean and comfortable, set on a ridge slightly above the town, and across the lake from the 'downtown island' of Minocqua. Dean had showered and fallen right into bed the minute they arrived, leaving Sam, who was not feeling tired, to continue with research on the 'UFO' sighting and Alison Levanne.

Sam glanced up from the computer screen, frowning at his brother, whose sleep had been restless at best. Dean had jumped awake several times, muttering to himself about hunting, Lillin's and other, less intelligible snatches of speech. Sam had been on the verge of waking Dean properly and getting him to eat something, but after the last wakeful moment, Dean had seemed to finally settle deeply asleep so Sam let him be.

\--

_Dean walked into Ellen's roadhouse and made his way to the bar. Ellen was there, polishing glasses and she nodded to him. "Dean," she said. "Longtime no see."_

_"Yeah," he replied. He got up on a stool and accepted the beer she poured for him._

_"How's Sam?" Ellen asked._

_"He's—fine," Dean said. He looked into his beer for a moment._

_"Does it make you ache when he's afraid of you?"_

_"What?" Dean's head snapped up. Something was wrong, everything had suddenly changed. He wasn't in Ellen's roadhouse anymore, and the woman standing in front of him was not Ellen, but Miriam._

_Dean cursed and made to get up, only to find that he couldn't move._

_He was naked, bound to a chair in some dingy looking room in a place he didn't recognize. Dean struggled against the ropes that held him. "Let me go, bitch!"_

_Miriam smiled, sauntered over to him, stroked her fingers across his cheek. "Don't you just want to fuck him so hard while he screams for mercy?"_

_Dean licked his lips and then shook his head. "Shut up!"_

_Miriam's fingers moved across his cheek to his neck, rubbing tight little circles just below his ear. Dean moaned and closed his eyes._

_"You've tasted it once, Dean and I know you felt good. Listening to him pleading with you—asking you to stop—tears in his eyes?" Her voice dropped to a silken purr and she drew her nails in a teasing line along his neck to his collar bone._

_Dean sobbed and began to pray in latin. "Dominee deis humiliare…"_

_"You tasted his fear, Dean, lapped it up and felt it burn in your belly." Miriam bent to kiss him, her lips devouring his, bringing fire leaping in his veins and Dean groaned helplessly. "You want more. It would be easy, Dean. He won't even fight you; you saw that, didn't you? He just let you do whatever you wanted to him."_

_"In nominare Christo Dominum!" Dean shouted._

_"His cries and pleas are only going to make the ache in your belly sweeter, baby boy." Miriam laughed low and dark and slowly faded from his sight._

Dean drew a sharp, gasping breath and forced himself awake. "Freakin sick fuck!" he choked.

"Dean?" Sam bent over him, his dark eyes filled with concern, one hand resting on Dean's chest.

Dean grasped his brother's wrist. "Sam!"

"Shh," Sam said, "just a nightmare, big brother." He pulled Dean into his arms. "Shh…"

\--

Sam glanced up from the computer screen and levelled a narrow eyed look at his brother. Dean had his nose buried in a book, but Sam was almost certain that Dean was not really reading it. He hadn't seen or heard his brother turn a page in at least an hour. He frowned, glanced at the news page open in front of him on the laptop and shook his head.

They had done exactly zero on the Levanne case since arriving in Minocqua two days ago. Dean was withdrawn, hardly speaking to him, hardly touching him and Sam was getting heartily sick of trying to make small talk or get Dean involved in the investigation. He sat back in his chair. "Interesting book?"

"Huh?" Dean glanced up at him, and then turned his attention back to the page he'd been staring at.

"Dean, you've been 'reading' that same page for the last hour."

"Nah, I'm sure I turned a page at the most, forty-five minutes ago," Dean replied.

"Yeah right," Sam sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Not a bad book," Dean said. He held it up for Sam to see the title: Mysteries: An Investigation into the Occult, the Paranormal, and the Supernatural.

"Oh, a little light reading, nice," Sam snarked. He got up and grabbed a beer from the fridge.

"Hey, pass me one!" Dean said. Sam handed him the beer he held and went back for another.

"So, what did this place set you back?" He asked as he came back to the living area. 

"Didn't cost me a dime, Sammy. I put I on Mastercard," Dean said.

"Mr Grendlewitch footing the bill," Sam murmured, returning to his seat at the table, pulling the laptop closer to him.

"Something like that," Dean said. He popped his beer.

"God, you sure can get a shitload of crap on the internet," Sam said.

"Uh-huh," Dean laid his book aside, taking a mouthful of beer.

"USA's most haunted," Sam went on. "They've got TV cameras, the works—they hear a squeak and it's the goddamned phantom of ye old opera house!"

Dean laughed, "Not those two guys we met—what were their names? The ones at the haunted house?"

"Oh the two oddballs? Professional Paranormal Investigators," Sam said pompously. "Spangler and Zedmore?" He laughed. "They tried to tell _you_ about EMF."

"And they called us amateurs," Dean said with a frown.

"They coulda been right," Sam said.

"Are you serious?" Dean scoffed and raised an eyebrow.

"Maybe we are amateurs, maybe if we were a little more on the ball, we woulda nailed that yellow-eyed sonofabitch by now." He took a mouthful of beer, and set the bottle down on the table.

"The demon's dropped off the radar, Sam. We can't find somethin' that isn't there!"

"It's weird though, you know? It's like all the stuff we're huntin'—it's like they're distracting us—taking us further off the trail."

"So have you got anything new on that UFO sighting?"

Sam shook his head. " I haven't come across anything in the local papers, and the last time we were close the demon was when we exorcised Meg."

Dean nodded. "Well, I guess we just continue our little holiday for now."

"Yeah, except you're as fidgety as a handful of roaches being pan-fried," Sam said.

"Whaddya mean by that?" Dean said. "I've been readin' all morning." He unconsciously drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. "I'm just chillin, dude."

"Reading." Sam gave his brother an incredulous look. "You've been staring at the same page all damn morning and you don't think I don't know you've been up pacing the floor all hours for the past couple of nights? Okay, I'm all for a little downtime," Sam said. "All we seem to do the past few weeks is fight."

"I know that." Dean tensed and the smile he turned on Sam was tight.

"Well, c'mon!" Sam got to his feet. "Talk to me, there must be somethin' you wanna do besides sit around drinking and pretending to read a book all day!"

"I guess I'm just feelin' a little—twitchy," Dean said. He got up and walked over to face Sam.

"Like I don't know." Sam sighed.

"It's too damn quiet, Sammy."

"Ya think?" Sam pulled Dean close to him. "Wasn't that what I was just saying?" 

"Yeah—but it's _too_ damn quiet," Dean insisted.

"You wanna call Ellen, see if Ash has heard of anything going on?"

"Ash woulda called us by now if something was up." Dean dismissed the suggestion with a shake of his head. "We haven't seen anyone since we got here, except maybe the guy who rents out these cabins. I'm all over a secluded vacation, but isn't this a bit off? And since that Lillin attacked us—nothin'."

Sam's eyes darkened. "That bitch nearly got you," he said. "I shoulda salted the room." 

"It doesn't matter, Sammy. It didn't get me."

"But even that, was weird."

Dean huffed. "She was playin' with us. She had plenty of time to kill me before you got there."

"Then there was Sherri. I mean, they've never worked in pairs to set us up before, Dean." Sam sighed, rested his head on Dean's shoulder. "I can't help thinkin' they know we're here." He said.

They were quiet for a time, holding each other, drawing solace from the closeness, each battling his own private demons until Dean broke the silence.

"Sammy," he whispered. "I'm sorry."

Sam lifted his head. "What? Sorry for…?" He set Dean away from him a little, forcing a smile. "I swear, if you ate the last of the peanut butter, I'll skin you!" 

Dean snorted, half closing his eyes, and then looked up at his brother. "I—Sam, I'm tryin' to apologize here!"

Sam shook his head, leaning in close, resting his chin against Dean's shoulder again.

"You know—you know I care about you, right?" Dean said. "I mean, I know I can be an asshole but I—I've said some things— _done_ some things recently and I…" he swallowed hard. "I just don't want you to think that it means I don't give a shit." Dean wrinkled his nose. He hated this kind of thing, and yet knew, on some level that it needed to be said. He closed his eyes as Sam nuzzled against his neck.

"You don't have to apologize for anything," Sam whispered. "I know you don't mean—didn't mean—I know you care, you're my big brother."

"And uh, about the peanut butter?" Dean pulled away, out of Sam's arms. "There wasn't that much left," he said with a small grin. Something flickered in the back of Sam's eyes—something hurt, but it was gone as quickly as it came.

"Then, you'll have to haul ass down to the store tomorrow and get some." Sam frowned.

"Yeah, I'll get it in the morning. My turn to go out for coffee anyhow." 

Sam shook his head. "You're a friggin coffee junkie, y'know that?" 

Dean turned away, picking up his beer and taking it out onto the small patio at the rear of their cabin. He leaned on the railing, staring out at the view of the lake through the trees fringing the area where the cabins were built. He grinned over his shoulder at his brother. "It's the only way I get a decent cup." He heard Sam's footsteps behind him as he turned back to the view. 

"You do my head in, you know?" Sam stepped close behind him, slipping his arms around Dean's waist and Dean leaned back with a sigh. He closed his eyes when Sam nibbled at his ear. 

"I love havin' my ears nibbled," Dean whispered. 

"It'd be nice if you made the first move once in a while," Sam breathed against his ear. He turned Dean in his arms. 

"Everythin's changed, Sam. I don't know how to…" He moaned softly as Sam pulled him closer pressing hard against him. "I don't know what…" He looked up into his brother's eyes. "I'm lost, Sam." 

"How can I get through to you, Dean? Fuck, you must know how crazy you make me—I try to let you know—every time. I try to let you know…" He leaned in, kissing Dean hard, his tongue seeking entrance to his brother's mouth. He moaned when Dean parted his lips, reaching up to put his arms around Sam's neck. 

Sam broke the kiss for a moment, swung Dean around, pushing him against the wall of the cabin, leaning in to capture Dean's mouth again, kissing him deep and hard until they were both panting. 

Dean whimpered against Sam's mouth, his hands running down the muscled back to Sam's waist, pulling him closer. He let his own tongue meet Sam's in a passionate duel, sliding together tasting, exploring before he drew back, panting, looking into Sam's passion blown eyes. "Wow," Dean whispered.

Sam reached to take one of Dean's hands from his waist, pulling it to his crotch. "Dean, please." He slowly rubbed himself against Dean's hand. "Don't make me beg," he said softly. He saw Dean's throat work as he swallowed hard.

"Okay—okay," Dean bit his lip, closing his eyes as he pressed his hand harder against Sam's crotch, feeling the shudder that ran through Sam's lean frame. Their lips crashed together again and Dean moaned, continuing to squeeze and stroke his brother through his jeans.

Dean ran his other hand around to the front of Sam's Jeans, working the button undone and sliding the zipper down. He slipped his hand inside, his fingers gently grazing Sam's cock before they closed around him, stroking Sam slowly. He swung Sam around, shoving him against the wall and dropped to his knees, pulling Sam's jeans and shorts down to his knees before he leaned in with a soft, growling moan and took Sam's cock into his mouth. 

"Oh fuck, Dean!" Sam panted. He threw his head back against the wall, eyes closed, biting his lip in pleasure. _This is all wrong_ , he thought. He fisted a hand into Dean's hair, "No, don't…" he moaned, "You don't—this isn't---fuck!" His hips bucked forward involuntarily when Dean pulled him to the back of his throat and swallowed, humming a soft moan that vibrated the length of his cock. "Dean, ohgodshit!" 

Grabbing Sam's hips, Dean pinned him against the wall, sliding his mouth back along the shaft, swirling his tongue over the tip of the weeping cock, savoring that taste of precome on his tongue before he swallowed Sam again, rippling his tongue along the thick vein on the underside of the shaft. 

"Dean!" Sam cried. He held his breath, both hands in Dean's hair as he fought against the need to come. He groaned, his belly twitching, balls tightening. He managed to shove Dean away a moment before his orgasm erupted, cupping a hand over the head of his cock as his knees gave way and he sank down in front of Dean. 

Dean sat back on his heels, swiping a hand across his mouth. "Why'd you do that?" he panted. "I wanted to taste you."

"Maybe 'cause I can see right into your soul through your eyes, Dean," Sam said. He was shaking, still breathing hard, coming down slowly from the orgasmic high.

"Spare me the psychic mojo," Dean said. He got to his feet. 

"You're not ready to give me anything more than a hand-job," Sam said. He straightened his clothes getting to his feet. 

"Yeah, that'll explain why I was just on m'knees with your cock halfway down my fucking throat," Dean muttered. He shrugged Sam off when his brother grabbed at his shoulder, walking back into the cabin. "Fuck!" 

Sam followed him. "Dean, look at you." 

"What?"

"It's there in your eyes, you never know whether to fuck me or fight me. The conflict—it's eating away at you!"

Dean sneered. "Keep talkin' Doctor Phil, I'm listenin!" 

"Dean, I needed-fuck-this is so damned hard with you!"

Dean swung around to face him. "You think it's easy for me?"

"If I hadn't put your hand on me, would you have made the first move?" Sam asked. "Would you? Truth, Dean—none of your smarmy shit. Would you have?"

"Truth?" Dean stepped closer to Sam, meeting his eyes with a lift of his chin. "You want the truth?"

"Yeah, if you even know how to do that." 

"Okay, NO! No, I wouldn't, okay. Does that make you happy? Are you satisfied now—can I get some fucking peace now?"

"Why the hell not?" Sam demanded. 

"Because you're scared of me!" Dean yelled. He got up in his brother's face. "You're scared and I can't stand to put my hands on you when you flinch and tense up and have to make yourself not pull away, that's why!" 

"I'm not _scared_ of you!"

"Oh don't fucking gimme that bullshit!" Dean swung away, pushing a hand through his hair. "Every time after—after—every fucking time! I would reach out for you or move suddenly. You'd flinch! You _still_ tense up when I touch you."

"That's not true," Sam's voice dropped low. "I don't pull away from you. I didn't today. I'm not scared, Dean. I…" He shook his head. "Do I look scared? Do I act scared of you? Fuck, I made love to you after what happened—did I seem fucking scared of you then?"

"Not when _you_ start it," Dean said. He looked away.

"If I tense up, it's because my gut's telling me you don't really want to be with me." Sam said.

"Well, your gut's wrong, Sammy," Dean said. "Since when have you ever known me to do anything I didn't want to do, stay any place I didn't wanna be?" Dean watched as Sam dashed the back of a hand across his face. He bowed his head. "I'm losin' you," he said wretchedly.

"No, you're _not_! But you're fucking going the right way to!" 

Dean shook his head, turned away to get another beer from the fridge.

"Don't you turn your back to me, you fucking asshole!" Sam yelled. "That's what you always do!" 

Dean popped the top off the beer, drank half the bottle in one breath. He turned to look at Sam. 

"You fucking don't even sleep with me anymore. Yeah, okay, we might be in the same bed, but you—you…" Sam swiped at the empty beer bottles on the table, knocking them flying to the floor and Dean jumped back, narrowly avoiding a flying bottle. "I don't know what else to say…" Sam murmured. 

Dean drew a deep breath. "Are ya done?"

Sam growled. "I'm sorry you raped me, I'm sorry I didn't fight you off, I'm sorry for needing you—I'm sorry for not hating you; I'm sorry I fucking love you! I'm sorry I don't know how to mend this beyond telling you how much I depend on you to keep me sane!" 

Dean drank the last of his beer and set the bottle on the table, and then swiped it to the floor with the others. He raised his eyes to Sam's face. "You wanna know why I never had a girlfriend that lasted more than a few months?" Dean advanced on Sam around the table, backing his brother against a wall.

"You never wanted to get involved with anyone—this life—people get hurt," Sam said. He gulped, pressed against the wall as Dean stepped close to him. 

"Partly," Dean said. "That's not the main reason though."

"I—I don't know, Dean, but I'm sure you're going to tell me." Sam fought the rising panic, meeting Dean's eyes steadily.

"See," Dean fisted a hand into the front of his brother's shirt. He bared his teeth, the expression half-way between a smile and a snarl. "Girls—don't have any backbone," He shook Sam a little when his hands came up, trying to push Dean away. "Stop! I'm not going to hurt you!"

Sam nodded, tensely, letting his hands fall to his sides. "Okay," he said.

"You though, Sam. You've got what I need. It's just my rotten fucking luck you hadda be my brother-why did I have to share DNA with you? What kind of a sick fucking joke is that?"

"What?" Sam drew a shaking breath. "What do you need?"

"The only person on earth who can hope to ever _get_ to me, is my brother. You think that demon did a number on you? Look what he did to _me!"_  

Sam shook his head. "Dean…" 

"Shhh…" Dean pressed a finger against Sam's lips. "Don't say anything."

Sam nodded, swallowed hard. Dean was so on edge; he daren't make a wrong move—utter a sound that might trigger that darkness he knew lurked just below the surface. He licked his lips when Dean took his finger away. 

"You've got what I want, Sammy. You've got the guts to be with me. You've got the backbone I need in a partner." Dean gave another half feral smile. "So, when I think you're scared of me, I get edgy." He tightened his fist in the fabric of Sam's shirt. "And when I get edgy—I do stupid ass things that we both regret!"

Sam drew a deep breath and met Dean's eyes. "I'm not scared of you." He sighed when Dean's grip relaxed and his brother back off of him a little.

"You are though, sometimes. I can smell it on you." 

"Okay, okay sometimes—after a hunt—I see something in you…"

Dean nodded.

"It's like you don't know who I am. Like you're still hunting the—when…" He closed his eyes for a moment, fighting for composure, searching desperately for the right words. "That night, after you—when I pulled away it was like a reflex, I knew that you had come down, you were back in yourself, but—but I didn't know if it would come back. I…" Sam lifted his chin, gathering his courage. "I was hurt and I didn't know if it would come back."

Dean sighed, the tension draining out of his posture. "I'm sorry for that," he said. "I don't know why that happens. It's always been there, but since Dad died, it's happening more often and it's stronger." He shrugged.

"I'm not as strong as Dad," Sam said. "Perhaps he kept it down, kept you grounded more."

Dean gave a small snort of laughter. "Yeah, he'd just put me through a wall. By the time I came around, it'd be gone."

"I can't _be_ Dad, Dean." Sam stepped forward, putting his hands on Dean's shoulders.

Dean shook his head, looking up into Sam's eyes. "I don't want you to be Dad. I want _you_ , Sammy."

"I'm here, Dean. Touch me, fuck me, punch me, whatever you need to do, you're my brother and yeah, you freak me out at times, okay? But I want you, too." He leaned in, kissing his brother's cheek and gave a soft moan when Dean turned his head, capturing his mouth in a long, tender kiss. He smiled against Dean's mouth, pulling him closer. "Need you…"


	7. Chapter 7

Dean got out of the car in front of the little general store. He glanced around at his surroundings, still outside the main downtown area of the town; this was more of a small village area. Dean closed the door and made his way into the store. 

A pleasant faced, middle-aged woman greeted him when he walked in, and Dean nodded to her. He made his way along the aisles looking for the few items they needed. After finding peanut butter, bread, a carton of milk, and the biggest tube of lube he could locate, he made his way back to the counter to pay. 

"Hi," the woman greeted. "You stayin' up at the cabins?" 

Dean nodded. "Yeah, thought it would be a nice quiet getaway, bein' out of season and all." He smiled at the woman, handing over a fifty and waiting for his change. 

"It's quiet around here all right," the woman put his purchases into a sack.

"Yeah, that's what we wanted, really. Been a death in the family we're—takin' some time to deal, y'know?" Dean shook his head and frowned. He didn't usually open up so easily to strangers and it bothered him that this woman had managed to get to him with whatever that trick was that hairdressers, bar tenders and store keepers seem to have. He smiled again, taking his change. 

"Oh I'm sorry to hear about that," She gave him a sympathetic look. "You take care, now," she added. "And mind that road. Looks like we could get some rain and it gets a mite slippery in the wet. 

"Thanks," Dean said. He took the sack from the counter and nodded to her. "I'll keep that in mind." He turned and made his way back to the Impala. 

The road from the village back to the cabins on the ridge wound for about a half mile through forest. Trees lined either side of the road, making it difficult to see if anything was coming from the opposite direction. Dean negotiated it with ease though, the impala hugging the curves. 

Dean swung the door open and reached for the sack of groceries, hefting it in one arm as he got out of the car and butted the door shut with his hip. He reached into his pocket for the keys to the cabin. Just as he put the key into the lock his cell phone rang. 

Pulling the phone from his pocket, Dean flipped it open. "Dean speaking," he said. Silence greeted him. He frowned, pulled the phone away from his ear to check the signal strength. It was high. He put the phone back to his ear. "Hello?" Nothing. "Hello!" Shaking his head, Dean snapped the phone closed. "Your dime," he muttered as he pushed the door open and stepped into the cabin.

"Oh, shit!" Dean said, realizing only as he stepped inside that he had forgotten to get coffee. _The one thing I really went there for and I forget?_  He gave a small shake of his head. _I_ _really need to get some proper sleep_. 

"What's up?" Sam was sitting at the small dining table, his laptop open in front of him.

"Coffee, I forgot to get coffee," Dean said. He set the bag of groceries down. "I grabbed a few bagels though, and got your peanut butter." He smiled at his brother. "And lube." Dean waggled his eyebrows. 

Sam grinned. "Food, sex and coffee, is that all you think about?" He got up, moving to take Dean in his arms. "Aren't you lucky that I did some rummaging in the kitchen cupboards and managed to find a coffee maker?" He kissed his brother. "We can make our own; I'll go get some ground coffee later. In the meantime, you'll just have to put up with instant." 

Dean groaned. "I'll try to cope," he said. 

Sam picked up the groceries and carried them into the kitchenette. "Oh, while you were out, some woman called the cabin," Sam said. "She was just checkin' that the cabin's watertight and we have everything we need." He started to unpack the food." 

"Huh," Dean replied. "I thought that guy—George, was in charge of the cabins?" 

"She said she's his assistant or somethin'." Finding the lube, Sam smiled to himself and set it aside. "You want a bagel?" he called.

"Yeah," Dean said.

Sam snagged a couple of plates from a cupboard, set the kettle to boil and spooned instant coffee into cups, humming to himself as he worked. He glanced over his shoulder as his brother came into the room. "You look beat," he said with a sigh, taking in the dark circles under Dean's eyes. "You were up during the night again."

Dean frowned, not meeting Sam's eyes. "Maybe I should lay off the bedtime snacks," he said. He took a cup of coffee and a bagel from Sam and made his way to the table. 

Sam joined him a moment later, spreading peanut butter thickly on his bagel. He glanced at Dean a couple of times, seemed about to speak and then shook his head, biting into the bagel. 

"What's up, Sammy?" Dean asked. 

"I—it's nothing," Sam said. 

"C'mon, something's obviously botherin' you. Spill." 

Sam sighed. "You were up all hours again last night," Sam said. "It's not like I can't hear you pacing on that wooden floor. Dean, what's wrong?" 

"Nothin', Sam." Dean took a sip of his coffee, grimacing a little and picked up the bagel, breaking it into pieces.

"Bullshit," Sam said, but he didn't press any further. 

"So this woman that called about the cabin, she leave a name?"

Sam frowned. "I dunno…I think she said her name was—Mary? No. No, it was Miriam! That's it, Miriam." 

"Miriam?" Dean's head snapped up and he met his brother's eyes. "Are you sure?" 

"Yeah, that's what she said." Sam was frowning at him. 

Shaking his head, Dean took another sip of his coffee. _It’s just a coincidence,_  he told himself. 

"Dean, it's not like you to not sleep at nights. That's supposed to be _my_ thing." Sam said with a small smile. "Tell me what's the matter?" 

"I can't." Dean pushed his plate away, picked up the cup and drained the last of his coffee. 

"Can't, or won't?" Sam stood up, clearing the dishes from the table and stomped into the kitchen to wash them. 

***Oh you two are so sweet!*** Miriam's voice cooed inside Dean's head. 

Dean froze at the sound of a voice he knew only he could hear. He swallowed hard, still dimly aware of Sam clattering dishes in the sink, but his every sense attuned to that inner voice. _Where are you? What do you want? Why don't you show your face, bitch?_

***Oh my, one question at a time, Angel.*** She replied. * **A girl can only concentrate on so much.***

_Where are you?_  Dean demanded and then shook his head. _A_ _h great, now I'm talking to the voices in my head_. 

***Close, Angel. Closer than you realize.*** The voice sounded smug, a tone that made Dean want to smash the smirk right off the face of the speaker—if it had a face.

_You're a damned coward, you too scared to come out and face me? You oughta be, 'cause we both know that I'd blast you straight back to hell if I could see you, bitch.'_

***You're so cute when you talk dirty, baby-boy! We'll meet face to face when I say the time is right. I'm looking forward to it.*** She laughed. * **It's going to be so much fun showing you just how very powerless you are, Dean.***

"Dean, did you ask about the Levanne family when you were down at the store?" Sam came out of the kitchen. 

"What?" Dean looked up sharply, meeting his brother's eyes. "Oh—no, I didn't," he replied. "It didn't cross my mind."

***He's so beautiful, Dean, so trusting and vulnerable,*** Miriam taunted. * **He loves you so much. He'd do anything you want— _let_ you do anything you want. You remember, Dean. You've tasted his surrender...***

"Shut up!" Dean snarled. "Just shut the fuck up!" 

"Dean?" Sam frowned at him. "What the hell is going on with you?" 

"Nothing, Sammy, I just…" Dean trailed off as his cell phone began to ring. He grabbed the phone out of his pocket and flipped it open, pressing it to his ear. "Hello?" Silence was the only response. "Hello!" After listening for a moment, Dean cursed, snapping the phone shut, he stared at it, seriously considering smashing it. 

"Who was it?" Sam took a step closer to his brother. 

"No-one. Must've been a wrong number, they hung up. Dark shadows flickered in the depths of Dean's eyes as he considered that this was the second time in one day that this had happened. 

Sam was silent for a moment, and then let his breath out with a sigh. "D'you wanna go out somewhere? Get a beer or somethin'?" 

Dean looked up. "Yeah, that's a good idea. I could use a game of pool or somethin'. I saw a bar and pool room down in the village just at the end of the road." He got to his feet. 

Sam grinned, reaching for his hoodie. "I bet you three days wood-chopping I can whup your ass at pool!"

 "You got yourself a bet, Sammy." Dean laughed. "And if I win, you have to chop it with your shirt off." They headed out to the Impala. 

Sam gave Dean a look as he slid into the passenger seat. "I'm not chopping wood without my shirt on—it's fucking freezing up here first thing! Anyway, _you're_ gonna be doing it," he added as the impala wound its way down the road to the village.


	8. Chapter 8

The sun was setting as the brothers stepped out of the pool hall several hours later. "I'm still not sure you didn't cheat," Sam huffed. He glared at Dean when he stepped in close, his arms easily slipping round Sam's waist, hands running up his back, under the hoodie.

"Aww, c'mon, baby, you'll take it off for me? You know how it turns me on watching the muscles in your back ripple when you swing that axe." He gave a groggy smile, tried for a kiss, but Sam evaded him. "Besides, how can you cheat at pool?" Dean laughed.

Sam shook his head. "Oh, I'm sure if there's a way, you know it." He shoved Dean away, and held out his hand. "Keys. You're not getting behind the wheel in that state."

"Uh—yeah—yeah I have them," Dean searched his pockets, wobbling a little on unsteady legs. "Hold on."

"God, I'm gonna have to pour you into the car! How much you had?"

"I dunno, lost count after the fourth." Dean dug into a pocket of his jeans, pulling the keys out, a condom hitting the ground as it slipped out with them. "Oops," Dean chuckled, bending down to snag the rubber and slip it back in his pocket.

"Uh-huh, c'mon then, up you get," Sam helped Dean to straighten up. "What'd you drop, money?"

"I'm not drunk, Sam." Dean said. He raised his eyes to his brother's face. "No. A rubber." A boozy smile spread across his lips.

"A what—what you need that for?" Sam frowned.

"Th-the barmaid gave it to me whe-when I bought that last round of drinks, told me I might need it later." Dean shrugged, "I dunno why?"

"That blonde chick?" Sam glanced back towards the door of the pool hall. "Want me to go back to the cabin on my own? You don't have to come with me."

"What?" Dean frowned and shook his head. "No—I wanna go."

Sam hitched an arm around his brother's waist guiding him to the passenger door of the car. "You sure? You might be in there…"

"Nah," Dean shook his head. "Lots of pubs hand out condoms these days. Sign of the times." He fell into the car as Sam got the door open and shoved him.

Sam watched as his brother stretched against the back of the seat, laying his head back and closing his eyes. Walking to the driver's side, he tossed the keys in the air and caught them. "Dude, you're going to have one hell of a hangover tomorrow," he observed as he slipped behind the wheel. Sam started the Impala and headed back up the ridge to their cabin.

\--

Pulling up to the front of the cabin, Sam glanced over at Dean who had been silent on the short drive back. He's probably passed out, Sam thought, knowing that his brother was usually a garrulous drunk. He reached over slapping the back of one hand against a leather clad arm. "We're here, sleepin' beauty and if you think I'm carrying your ass into the cabin, you're sadly mistaken."

Dean stirred, blinking and looking around. "Wha? I c'n walk…"

"Yeah," Sam pulled the passenger door open and hauled Dean out, helping him inside the cabin. He dragged his brother to the bed and laid him down. "I'll make some coffee-ah shit we forgot to get fresh ground-you'll have to put up with instant again." He left for a moment and then came back. Dean was snoring lightly, sprawled on the bed. "Oh no you don't! You're not sleeping in those clothes."

"No. No, I was just…"

"C'mon," Sam said. He started to pull off Dean's boots and socks. "Lift up," he said after moving to undo his brother's jeans. Dean stretched, arching his back as Sam's hands worked to pull his jeans down and off.

"Sammy?" Dean's voice was a sultry whisper.

"What?" Sam moved onto the bed, straddling Dean while he helped him out of his jacket and shirt. "Don't want coffee," Dean whispered. "I want…" He caught hold of Sam's wrist, hazel eyes blinking open slowly, dilated pupils darkly reflecting Sam's face in miniature.

"I think you're a little too…" Sam trailed off as Dean's fingers tightened around his wrist. "Dean?"

"Sam…"

"Don't you think you're a little drunk?"

"Stay with me, Sammy!" Dean pulled him close, fingers still tight around Sam's wrist.

"And just where the hell you think I'm gonna go?" Sam grinned. "Of course I'll stay."

"No, I mean…" Dean moved quickly, rolling and flipping Sam onto his back, coming to rest on top of him. "I mean—like this." He kissed Sam, hard.

Sam closed his eyes, parting his lips for Dean's tongue, his heart beating wildly. Dean like this was unpredictable and Sam daren't do anything to tip him over into that dark, heightened state that Sam hated. He let Dean kiss him, willing himself to stay calm.

Dean moaned into Sam's mouth, grinding his hips against Sam's and deepened the kiss, thrusting his tongue deep into Sam's mouth.

Sam snatched a breath when Dean let up with the kissing. He moaned, pushing up against Dean, craving more skin contact. "Dean, this would be a lot better if you'd let me take my clothes off," he whispered. He gently twisted his wrist in Dean's grasp, biting back a yelp when Dean's fingers convulsively tightened.

Dean sat back, straddling Sam moving to unbutton Sam's shirt with his free hand. His wide, dark eyes never left Sam's face, his fingers biting into the soft flesh of Sam's wrist.

Those dark, dark eyes; Sam couldn't pull his gaze away from them. He'd read once that danger holds a curious fascination, and is what makes a rabbit freeze stock still in the glare of headlights. He could relate just now. Dean scared the hell out of him when he got like this, but it fascinated and drew him at the same time. He licked his lips, feeling that maybe right now, though, Dean was a little too far gone, and a mite too dangerous. "Dean?" Sam whispered. "Dean, are you okay?"

"What?" Dean started, froze, met Sam's eyes and then turned Sam's wrist loose as though his fingers had been burned. "Fuck," he breathed. He tensed as Sam reached for him, pulling him down into a gentle kiss. Sam pulled Dean closer rolling with him 'til they were lying on their sides, kissing him until he felt Dean relax, caught his brother's small moan between his lips. He pulled away, stroking a thumb against Dean's cheek. "You were miles away there," he said with a smile. "Definitely miles away."

Dean swallowed hard, looking into Sam's eyes. "Sorry," he whispered.

"Sorry for what? Kissing me?" Sam grinned. "I think I can handle your kisses, Dean Winchester. He caught Dean's lips with his own again, dipping his tongue into his brother's mouth, tasting bourbon and salt, and Dean.

"Your arm," Dean murmured against Sam's lips, did I hurt you?"

Sam knew that his wrist showed the beginnings of a bruise, but he shook his head. "No. What makes you think you did?" He closed his eyes, knowing that the small quaver in his voice has given him away.

"You're a lousy liar, Sam. Show me." Dean pulled back dragging Sam's wrist from where he had hidden it behind Dean's neck.

Sam twisted away. "It's okay," he said. "Do you want me to take the rest of my clothes of? If you'd rather, I'll sleep in the other bed."

Dean sat up, reaching for Sam's arm. "Stop avoiding the fucking issue and show me!" The sharp edge of a growl rippled along the words, and Sam relented, letting Dean have his wrist.

"Ow!" Sam flinched. "Look, OK, you grabbed me a bit tight—it's nothing." He flinched again, this time at the dark expression that crossed Dean's features as he traced a thumb across the rising bruise.

Dean took the wrist to his mouth, kissing the imprint of his fingers and then slid his tongue over the place.

"See, it's nothing. No harm done," Sam said. Dean closed his eyes, tasting the salt of Sam's skin and another, underlying savor that is Sam. He sighed, his tongue lapping again and again over the bruised skin as though he could wash it away with his tongue.

 ***Bite him, Dean. Right there, taste his blood.*** Dean growled low in his throat, as something dark and warm curled in the pit of his stomach. Miriams's voice, stirring it to life.

Sam's breath hitched and he shifted a little as Dean blinked his eyes open, meeting Sam's gaze and ran his tongue along Sam's forearm to his elbow, his gaze never breaking away from Sam's. With a hard swallow, Sam froze, watching as Dean's tongue traced across the bend at his elbow.

"You're not afraid of me, Sam, are you?"

He couldn't speak; only mutely shake his head, eyes slipping closed for a moment, snapping open again at a gentle scrape of teeth on his skin. He met darkly shining eyes, watched Dean's lips curl into an almost animal smile.

"Good," Dean breathed. He reached out, flattening a palm against Sam's chest and pushed him down on the bed.

"I—I could, do what you taught me," Sam said, running his tongue out and across his lower lip. "Suck you, make you relax, feel good." He wished he didn't sound like he was pleading.

"Later," Dean's hands went to the waist-band of Sam's jeans, undoing the button and zipper. Sam felt a light sweat break out across his forehead.

"Put your hands under the pillow," Dean murmured.

Confused, Sam did as he was told. "You like it though, don't you, Dean?" He shivered when Dean's fingers grazed the sensitive skin of his lower belly.

"Shhh, Sammy." Dean shifted his weight, grabbing Sam's jeans and pulling them down. Sam let out a shuddering breath, willing the urge to bolt to subside, he slid his hands further under the pillow, fisting the pillow case in both hands, his knuckles grazed something hard and he realized it was the knife Dean kept there. It's presence vaguely reassuring.

Dean's eyes came back to Sam's face, his nostrils flaring slightly with his quickened breathing. "Don't be scared, Sammy."

"I—I'm not—you're not going to hurt me, are you Dean?"

Dean leaned in close, straddling his brother, his mouth inches from Sam's. "I don't _want_ to hurt you, Sammy," he breathed.

Sam nodded, smiled into his brother's eyes, his fingers under the pillow edging along the blade of the knife until he found and gripped the handle. His other hand moved sliding out from under the pillow, but he froze when Dean's eyes flicked to the movement and he laid a hand on Sam's arm.

"Sam," Dean murmured.

"I just want to touch you," Sam whispered, stilling.

"Stay still, baby." Dean leaned in, nuzzling gently against Sam's throat. "Want you to stay just like that." He reached between them, taking Sam's semi-erect cock in his hand, stroking him slowly.

Sam arched his back, eyes closed and moaned with pleasure. His fingers still curled around the handle of the knife, he relaxed a little, as Dean sighed against his neck.

"I can make you feel good, Dean," he whispered. "Let me?"

Dean pressed his lips to the base of Sam's throat, where the collar bones met and Sam's pulse beat fast and unsteady under the skin.

"Quiet, Sam!"

***His life's right there, Dean. Right at the tip of your tongue,* Miriam crooned. *touch it, taste it.***

Dean pulled back a little, still gently stroking Sam's cock, his senses were heightened and his heart raced in his chest. He looked into Sam's eyes. "Want to be in you, Sam. Need to feel you," he whispered.

Sam swallowed hard, nodded. "Okay, I'm okay if that's what you need. Just—go slow, please?" He shivered a little, seeing the dark energy that had risen in his brother's eyes again. Sam choked down his fear.

Dean smiled, stroking a thumb across Sam's lips. "Now Sam!"

Sam whimpered, tensing and closed his eyes, knowing that Dean in this state was not likely to give him much preparation. He bit down on his lip.

 ***Take him, Dean, hard and fast, don't you want to hear his cries? Don't you long for him to plead with you to stop, to go easy? He'll let you!*** Miriam's taunting voice urged.

Dean drew a sharp breath and shook his head. "No!" he snarled. "No, I can't do this!" He pushed Sam away from him.

"Dean?" Sam sat up, staring at the look of disgust on his brother's face. What had he said, what had he done? Dean looked as though he would be sick. Sam got onto his knees, reaching for his brother as Dean scrambled off the bed. "Dean, please. I'm sorry!"

"Get out of here, Sam! Go!" Dean shouted. He stumbled into the bathroom and slammed the door, sliding down against it to sit on the floor, his hands fisted in his hair either side of his head, while mocking laughter rang in his ears.


	9. Chapter 9

Dean woke with a groan, rolling onto his back. He threw an arm across his eyes to protect them from the bright sunlight streaming in through the cabin windows. "Guh, my head," he moaned. He lay still for a moment, trying to work up the courage to face the bright light of day.

A sound of movement somewhere in the room, had him crack one eye open, lifting his head off the pillow. Sam stood beside the dining table. He held a heavy, wooden bread-board in his hands. "Ready for breakfast?" Sam asked. As he spoke, he dropped the board onto the table with a resounding crash.

"Shit!" Dean sat bot upright, holding his head with one hand, and using the other to make a 'stop' gesture to his brother. "Can't you see I've got a headache?"

"Tea and toast?" Sam scowled. "It'll have to be tea, there's no bread!"

"Sammm." Dean groaned. "Just—gimme a minute, will ya?"

"Fuck. You!" Sam said. He stalked out of the cabin, onto the deck at the back. Dean sighed and got off the bed. He supposed he couldn't blame Sam for being pissed at him.

Life in the Winchester cabin had not been all that great, the past few days. Since the night of Dean's abortive attempt at making love to Sam after the pool hall. They had carefully not discussed the issue. Sam had wanted to. Dean was the one avoiding it. In fact, Dean was avoiding everything. He'd laid in a good supply of beer the day after, and spent each evening drinking until he was ready to pass out. It helped, really it did. He had hardly heard a peep from Miriam in those three days; as long as you didn't count the nightmares.

The nightmares. Dean shook himself and made his way into the bathroom where he splashed cold water on his face, rubbing it through his hair. Glancing into the mirror he frowned at what he saw. Bloodshot hazel eyes stared back at him from a tired, unshaven face, his hair, unwashed and dull lay flat against his head, the usual, carefully gelled spikes absent.

Something had to give, and judging by Sam's reaction just now, it was going to—today—big time.

Squaring his shoulders, and lifting his chin, Dean left the bathroom, and went out to the deck. Sam leaned on the railing, his back to Dean, staring out over the view of forest with glimpses of the lake and the town below. His posture was rigid, the way Sam always was when there was a fight imminent. Dean passed his tongue over still dry lips and took a deep breath. "Sammy?"

"Sam." The reply was edged with ice and Dean swallowed.

"Okay." So that's how it was gonna be. Sam wouldn't be placated this time, so Dean did the next best thing, he changed the subject.

"Heh," Dean said. "You know I was reading last night—" He began, "On the internet, you know how you can find all kinds of shit on the 'net, right, so I was reading—did you know that the number one fantasy of gay men is to have sex with themselves?"

Sam shot him a withering look over his shoulder. Okay, so that wasn't a bad thing, really. If he could get Sam to look at him, that was a start, now all he needed was to get Sam to talk, to follow the segue. He grinned. "How 'bout it, Sam. Would you wanna—I mean, if it was possible, would you wanna have sex with you?"

"Jesus, Dean." Sam shook his head and looked away.

Right. This couldn't be good. Dean bit his lip.

"Sammy, c'mon." Dean stepped close to his brother, made so bold as to put a hand on Sam's shoulder. "I've been an ass. There, I said it." He tried to get Sam to turn. If he could just get Sam to look at him, he knew he could melt the barrier between them away. "Sammy?"

"No, Dean!" Sam shrugged him off. "I'm not going to play your game this time. You always do this. You always turn it around and wriggle out of it and this time it's not gonna happen." Sam kept his eyes fixed steadfastly on the view as he spoke. "I'm not letting you off until you tell me what the fuck is going on with you. Why you won't talk to me, why you won't touch me why…" Sam's voice broke and he stopped, swallowing hard. "Why you look at me as if I make you sick!"

"Sam, you don't—okay? You don't make me sick!"

"Funny—I could've sworn that you dashed into the bathroom just about to heave your guts out after the last time you touched me!" Sam did look at him now, and what Dean saw in his eyes made him cold. Dean looked away.

With a snort of disgust, Sam pushed past Dean back into the cabin.

Dean stayed where he was, staring dismally out over the view. He pushed a hand through his hair and let his breath out on a sigh. He went back inside as the sky clouded over and a light rain began to fall. "I'll get dressed and go down to the village," he said. "Get some bread. Is there anything else we need?"

"No." Sam didn't look up from his computer. "Oh—coffee." He picked up a pen from the table, scribbling notes on the small notepad he kept for when they were working a case. Outside, the rain began to fall more heavily. Dean nodded, went to his duffel and pulled out clean jeans and a shirt.

Sam didn't speak while he got dressed and only grunted in reply when Dean said he would be back soon. 

\--

The road was slick with water. Dean had to concentrate to see through rain that dashed against the windshield in sheets. He frowned. Only half an hour ago, he'd woken to sunshine so bright it made his head throb and now it was pouring rain? He shook his head, switching the wipers to full power and peered through the grey sheets of water.

Dean cursed when his cell phone started to ring. Sam must've thought of something else they needed, digging the phone out of his pocket he flipped it open, pressed it to his ear.

"Hello?" Dean sighed. "Look, whoever you are, I'm getting kinda sick of this game. Either speak up, or fuckin' lose this number." He guided the impala into a corner. Silence crackled back at him from the other end of the line. "Screw this!" Dean was about to shove the phone back in his pocket when a sudden let up in the rain revealed a woman standing on the road right in his path.

"Look out!" Dean slammed his foot on the brake, wrenching the wheel to the side as the Impala skidded on the wet pavement. Dean fought for control, but the wheel slipped from his grasp as the car went into a sidelong slide. He cursed, his foot pumping at the brake pedal finding no pressure as it dropped flat to the floor.

The engine roared and Dean was thrown hard against the driver's door. He grunted with pain and was promptly thrown to the opposite side of the car as she slid off the road, into the woods, fetching up with a sickening crunch against a tree. Dean's head cracked against a door pillar. He saw stars and the edges of his vision went dark. Dean's eyelids fluttered closed. "Sam…" he groaned as he fell unconscious across the seat, one hand still reaching for the steering wheel. 

\-- 

Sam woke with a start to the sound of a knock on the cabin door. He'd spent a productive couple of hours scouring the internet for more information on the Levanne case and when Dean still hadn't returned from the store, he'd assumed his brother must have decided to get himself tanked in the village.

No doubt, he would call Sam later, asking him to come down and get him, drive him home because he was too drunk to make it back under his own steam.

Much as Sam would have liked to think he'd be strong and leave Dean's ass stranded in the village, he knew he wouldn't. No, he'd go and drag the idiot's ass out of trouble, as usual. He'd decided that he might as well use the time Dean was gone to catch up some of the sleep he'd been missing because of Dean's insomnia. The knock came again and Sam dragged himself off the bed, muttering to himself about damn fool big brothers would couldn't remember something as simple as taking a key with them.

He made his way to the door and swung it open, a mouth full of sass on his lips for his brother and froze. The man standing on the doorstep was not Dean. He was about fifty, Sam reckoned, a little pudgy with graying hair and faded blue eyes that looked like they had seen more than their share of drama. He smiled at Sam, touched the brim of his hat. He wore the uniform of a county sheriff.

"Sheriff?" Sam blinked a few times. Okay, so Dean had gotten himself tanked, got into a brawl, was in the town lockup and Sam would have to go and bail him out. Sam sighed. "How can I help you?"

"Sam Hetfield?" The Sherriff asked.

 "Yessir." Sam groaned inwardly. He still couldn't believe that Dean had chosen the surname of the lead singer of Metallica when he booked them into the cabins.

"Your brother drive a black '67 Impala?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah," he said. "That's right."

The sheriff's face grew solemn. "I'm afraid there's been an accident, son," he said quietly. "The car's pretty banged up."

"Oh my God!" Sam was already stepping out of the cabin, pulling the door to behind him when the Sheriff held up a hand.

"Just hold on a minute, son." He frowned made a gesture towards the door. "Is your brother here?"

"What? No!" Sam's brows drew together in confusion. "You just said that he wrecked the car."

"So your brother was driving?"

"Yes…" Sam studied the sheriff's face carefully. "Is Dean hurt?"

"That's just it, son. We don't know." The sheriff shook his head. "There's no driver at the scene. The car was just there, wrapped around a tree, and closed up—no one in the area, no driver to be found. We've searched all over and we can't find him."

"Dean," Sam whispered. 'Oh God,' he thought. _Where is he, what's happened to him?_  He looked at the sheriff. "Can you take me to the scene of the accident? If he's hurt, or confused—he might—maybe he's just hiding or something, if I'm there, he might come out."

\-- 

Dean came to in pitch darkness. The atmosphere was damp, dank musty like the interior of a cave, or an old house left standing empty too long. Dean groaned and struggled to lift his head which felt as though it weighed a ton and was filled with thick clouds. If he'd had a headache when he woke that morning, then by comparison, the pain in his head now had to be a migraine.

Dean tried to lift a hand to rub at the side of his head where the pain was worst, only to find that he couldn't move. His mouth was dry, felt like it was stuffed with cotton. He discovered when he tried to lick his lips—that was because his mouth _was_ stuffed with cotton—a gag, to be exact. He grunted, his head snapping up. He regretted that the minute he did it as pain slammed through his temples bringing a tortured cry from his throat.

"Oh, you're awake, Angel?"

Dean's blood ran cold. He knew that voice. "Mmrph!" He grunted against the gag. _Miriam_. And this time, her voice was outside of his head. He forced his eyes open.

She was just as he remembered her from that one meeting outside of the motel room all the way back in Windsor. Long dark hair, wide, innocent looking eyes, soft pretty mouth; she could have been anyone's secretary or wife, or baby sister. Dean did his best to sneer at her and shook his head. "Bisshh!"

"Now, really, baby-boy, is that anyway to greet the person who saved your cute ass from that wreck?" Miriam smirked, walked over to crouch down in front of the chair he was bound to. "A simple thank-you, is that too much to ask?"

"Fugh yoo!" Dean mumbled and then cried out with pain, his head reeling with the ringing slap she dealt to the side of his head.

"I don't want to hurt you, Angel," Miriam said. "But if that's the way you want it, I'll oblige." She got up, moving away for a moment and when she came back, she held a pewter chalice in one hand, a small, wicked looking blade in the other. Miriam hunkered down in front of him. "You're gonna help me make a very important call, baby-boy." She smiled, setting the chalice down next to the chair and leaned in, the blade poised at Dean's throat.

He leaned back in the chair turning his face away, his breath quickening as he felt the cold metal press against his skin. "Nnnguh!"

"Oh, so you _can_ feel fear." Miriam smiled. "That's kind of a turn on." She sighed. "Normally, I'd cut your throat. The life-blood really is much better for this kind of thing, but…" shaking her head, she untied one of Dean's hands from the arm of the chair and gripped his wrist, pulling his arm over the chalice. "I'll just have to make do." The blade sliced into his forearm, opening a vein and Dean arched back in the chair, his scream of rage and pain muffled by the scarf in his mouth.


	10. Chapter 10

The Impala had been removed from the accident scene by the time that Sam arrived back with the sheriff. To look at the place, you wouldn't think that anything major had occurred there at all. The tree the car collided with was a little scraped, one branch snapped in two, and the grass at the foot of the tree was flattened down, a small oil stain marking where the car had rested. Apart from that, though, the area was serene to the point of tranquil. Birds called and flew from branch to branch overhead. The rain had stopped and a watery sunlight filtered down through the canopy.

Sam stood on the spot and laid a hand on the tree, closing his eyes, trying if he could pick up anything that would tell him where his brother was. _This is screwed up,_  he thought. _Dean's a good driver, in any conditions. This just doesn't look right, doesn't_ feel _right._  He cleared his mind, concentrating. A vision, a feeling, anything—he'd accept anything that gave him a clue.

Nothing came to him and Sam opened his eyes with a small sound of frustration. "Dean!" he called, listening as his voice echoed across the ridge. "Dean, it's me, Sam! Come on out here, I wanna help you!" Apart from the startled fluttering of birds, there was no reaction to his calls. Sam shook his head, moving deeper into the woods. "Dean?"

He called and searched with the sheriff in tow for a good half hour before Sam had to reluctantly admit that his brother was nowhere near the vicinity of the accident.

"Would you come down to the precinct with me?" The sheriff asked. "We can file a missing persons on your brother, get a proper search underway. If you've got a photograph we could send it to the TV news…"

Sam frowned. This was going to get complicated. Dean Hetfield didn't really exist. They'd not turn that name up on any database, and splashing Dean's photograph on television wasn't really the brightest thing Sam could do right now. He looked into the sheriff's pale blue eyes.

"Not yet, if you wouldn't mind," he said. "My brother, you know, he's kind of funny about that sorta thing." Sam bit his lip. "Besides, if he's just wandered off somewhere confused, he could come back any time and I don't want to waste your time and resources on a search." He passed his tongue across dry lips. "I'll keep looking for him for a while. I have some ideas about where he'd possibly go." He smiled and offered the sheriff his hand. "Thanks for your help so far," he said. "I promise I'll be in touch if I can't find Dean myself."

"Well, all right, son, if that's the way you want it." The sheriff shook Sam's hand. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Would you drive me into the town? I'll need to organize some form of transport since our car's out of action."

"Of course," The sheriff started towards his squad car. "There's a car rental place downtown. I'll take you there."

\-- 

Dean didn't know how long he'd been here. He kept drifting in and out of consciousness and his head ached interminably from where he'd slammed against the door pillar. He frowned, trying to focus on one thing instead of his thoughts wandering in a thousand different directions. He tried to put the pieces of the puzzle together. He remembered arguing with Sam, and leaving the cabin to go to the store about mid morning.

He remembered the weird and rapid change in the weather. Then his phone had rung and when he answered no one was there. After that, all he could recall were a series of disjointed, foggy images. Lying on the seat of the impala, someone bending over him, calling his name—someone pulling him out of the car—dragging him away—then he was in another car, speeding along the road. He had thought that someone must have rescued him and was taking him to the ER. And then he'd woken up here, in this old house, with Miriam gloating over him. It was dark here, except for the candles. He couldn't tell whether it was day or night.

Miriam had bled him into that chalice of hers. Dean closed his eyes, recalling the pain the blade had caused. He'd been cut in fights lots of times, hell, he'd cut himself often enough but that one had hurt, the cut still smarted and Dean shuddered recalling Miriam's actions. After she bled him, she licked the wound, laving her tongue over it, lapping up his blood.

_"Life-blood is much better," Miram said, "But I'll have to make do." She leaned in close to him, her lips and tongue red with his blood and then she pulled the gag from his mouth and kissed him. Dean groaned with revulsion, trying to pull away, but she easily subdued him, holding the arm she'd cut behind his back while her mouth and tongue ravished his._

_"You can't resist me, baby-boy," she purred against his mouth. "I'm a Lillin," She pulled back from him, her eyes growing speculative. "You know, there is one other thing you could give me." Her hands went to the waistband of Dean's pants, undoing the button, sliding the zipper down—she smiled cruelly and rebound his arm before she reached into his pants and found his cock. Meeting his eyes, the Lillin purred. "Get hard for me, Angel"_

Dean closed his eyes, shutting out the memory. _I didn't want it,_  he told himself. _No matter what she says, it was rape. I didn't want her mouth on me, I didn't want…_ He swallowed hard against the bile that rose in his throat. 

_When it was done, Miriam pulled her mouth from him. Lifting the chalice in both hands, she spat into it and then stirred her fingers into the mix of blood and semen, walking away from Dean as she spoke into the vessel._

_"I have the eldest…yes…yes, Father…" She glanced over her shoulder at Dean and chuckled. "I am…it is only a matter of time, Father. Of course, nothing will be left."_

Dean growled softly, struggling against the ropes holding his legs and arms to the chair. The demon bitch was smarter this time. They'd learned not to tie a Winchester's hands together, that was too easy, Sam and Dean had been taught by their father, how to foil that kind of trap. 

He bit down on the scarf between his teeth, frustration roiling in the pit of his gut. He had to get out of this. They were after his brother, and Sammy was alone and unprotected. Dean twisted his arms under the ropes, trying if there was any give in them. If he could just—he froze at the sound of movement.

"Hello, Angel." Miriam approached him. She carried something in her hands and Dean swallowed hard, wondering what kind of torture she'd devised for him now. He grunted against the gag, a low sound of defiance and warning and she laughed.

"Oh, baby, you're so _cute_ when you're powerless. I told you I would show you just how defenseless you are against me." She crouched down in front of him, palming across the front of his jeans, which she'd left open after she finished with him earlier.

Dean sobbed, closing his eyes. He didn't want her touching him, didn't want her anywhere near him. He choked on tears of impotent rage, fisting his hands against the arms of the chair.

Miriam's hand moved away from his crotch and she sighed. "Much as I'd like to play," she said. "We don't have time." She laid the bundle she carried in his lap, unwrapping it. "I brought you something to eat," she said. "Never let it be said that I mistreated a prisoner.

Dean was instantly tense and alert. If she'd brought him food, maybe she'd untie him so he could eat, if he at least had his hands free, he could find some way to… 

"No such luck, Angel." Miriam met his eyes with a smirk. "You're forgetting I can read your mind." She pulled the gag from between his lips. "You can eat out of my hand, just to show me what a good and submissive little angel you are." 

Dean didn't want to take food from her hands, but there was really little choice. He could refuse to eat, but that would only weaken him and he needed all his strength at his disposal for when he finally got loose—oh, she was going to be soo sorry when he got out of this. He lifted his chin, opening his mouth for a spoonful of the stew she had brought him which, as long as he didn't think to hard about what it might be made from, didn't taste too bad. He chewed and swallowed the food, all the while working his wrists against the ropes, willing them to give even a little. 

Miriam paused in the act of bringing the spoon to his lips again as Dean's cell phone started to ring. Dean's head snapped in the direction of the sound. _Sam_ , he thought and renewed his struggles. He grunted in frustration when Miriam dropped the spoon into the bowl and shoved the gag back between his teeth.

"I'll get it," she said sweetly.  

\--

It had seemed to take forever to get the paperwork sorted out—precious time he could ill afford to waste. Sam made his way to the rental car, a black Nissan Sentra and climbed in behind the wheel. He'd no sooner pulled into the road than he had his cell phone out of his pocket, hitting the speed dial for Dean's phone. 

The phone rang on the other end, so at least it was switched on, and Dean hadn't rerouted to voice mail. Sam chewed his lip. 'Pick up,' he prayed silently. 'I swear to God, Dean, when I find you…' He let out a breath. What was taking Dean so long to answer? 

_"Sam."_  A female voice came over the phone, and Sam's brows drew together in a frown. He pulled the phone away from his ear, checking that he had the right number. The screen display said Now Talking: Dean. 

Sam put the phone to his ear. "Who are you? Where's Dean?" 

_"Oh, your brother's quite comfortable, baby. In fact, you've just interrupted his supper."_   She laughed. 

Sam drew a deep breath, willing himself to stay calm. There was something about this, a feeling he got, that wasn't good. He swallowed down the angry demands that rose to his throat and kept his voice level. 

"Tell me where he is," he said softly. "Is he hurt?" 

" _I'll tell you where to find him—eventually,"_  the woman's smug voice replied. _"Ri_ _ght now, though? I'm having far too much fun to let him go._  She chuckled and he heard what sounded like footsteps in the background. " _I can prove that he's still alive though."_  There was a pause and then Sam closed his eyes as his brother's voice, muffled and indistinct came down the line. 

" _Ssssrrm!_ " 

"Dean?" Sam's voice shook. "Dean, are you all right?" Tears flooded his vision and Sam had to pull the car onto the shoulder of the road. "I'll find you, I promise, I'll find you, man." 

_Srrm! Nnnuh!_

_That's enough,_  the woman was back on the line. " _Dean's alive, and up 'til now, relatively unhurt. You follow my instructions and_ he _might come out of this alive."_

"What do you want?" Sam spoke through gritted teeth. "Tell me!"

" _Right now, I want your brother to finish his supper,"_   The woman said. " _After that, I might have something else in mind for him. Call again in two hours."_

"Wait I…" Sam trailed off when the line went dead. He cursedand threw the cell phone onto the passenger seat. Gripping the wheel hard, he gunned the engine, heading in the direction of the cabin. He needed weapons and his laptop. No matter what that bitch said. He wasn't just going to sit idly by and wait two hours before he started to actively search for his brother. 

"Hold on, Dean," he muttered. "I'll get to you." 


	11. Chapter 11

Arriving back at the cabin, Sam dashed inside and flipped the laptop open. He loaded the website of their cell company and was dialling the customer support line at the same moment.

The call was answered by a girl named Imogene, asking how she might help him.

"Oh, hi, Imogene," Sam said in his most professional sounding voice. He took out his wallet and dug through cards until he found an ID that he could use. "Detective Scanlon calling, I'm wondering if you can help me. I'm working on a missing person's case, and I need to try locating this person via the GPS on his cell phone." Sam paused a moment, listening. "Yes, I understand, but you see, this person was involved in an accident. We have reason to believe he's injured and confused. He left the scene of the accident earlier today. The sooner we locate—yes, I'll hold." Sam chewed on his lip waiting for Imogene to come back on line.

"Yes, yes, I'm still here-my badge number? Sure…" Sam gave her the police ID number and waited, hearing her tapping on computer keys in the background. "Yes, I have the website open. Uh-huh." He gave Dean's cell number and the name Dean had signed up under. "I really appreciate your assistance," he said as he watched the GPS on the site load.

When the page came up, Sam grabbed a pencil beside the laptop and scribbled coordinates on a notepad. He smiled. The phone's location was ridiculously close to the cabins. "I have it," he said into the phone. "Hey, thanks so much, Imogene. I really appreciate your help." He wished the girl a good day, and hung up.

Shutting the laptop down, Sam went to the weapons bag. He grabbed out a pistol and loaded it with silver bullets and then took the sawed-off shotgun and rock salt shells, finally adding a bottle of holy water to his arsenal. He grabbed John's Journal and headed back out to the car. Sam slid in behind the wheel and activated the GPS on his cell phone. After punching in the coordinates he'd gotten from the website, he laid the phone on the passenger seat and started the car.

\--

Dean woke with a start. He was sure it must be night. Okay, how he was sure, he didn't know, only that the atmosphere felt different as if that made any sense. He frowned, wondering how long he'd been out for. His body felt stiff and cramped and his ass was sore with sitting in this damned chair for god knows how long. He lifted his head, slowly and looked around at the surroundings.

Miriam was over to one side of the room. She had her back to him, kneeling at the altar she'd set up after taking his blood and semen for her sick ritual. Dean kept as quiet as he could, not wanting her to realise he was awake again.

He let his eyes scan the items on the altar. Black candles in pewter holders, the chalice she used to contact her father, whom Dean assumed must be the yellow eyed demon—that fucker sure gets around, how many kids does he have? There were two other items on the altar that Dean could see a photograph of Dean, and one of Sam. He frowned, looking away, checking out the rest of the room, looking for anything that might help him, assuming he could get out of these fucking ropes.

There was another reason he'd wakened, and it made it's presence more urgently apparent to him. Dean let out a breath. He didn't want to have to communicate with the demon bitch any more than necessary, but this was becoming necessary. He needed to piss and there was no way he wanted to sit here tied up in his own mess. He turned his head towards her. "Mrr-rm!" he mumbled through the gag. "Hurgh!"

She turned to him, her eyes a deep, soulless black. Dean swallowed and did his best to smile, baring his upper teeth and meeting the cold dark gaze she turned on him. He couldn't do more than mumble soft guttural sounds, but he swallowed his pride and made every one of the limited vocalizations available to him, pleading with his eyes for her to come to him.

"What's the matter, baby-boy?" She walked towards him. Crouching down in front of him, she pulled the gag out of his mouth, rubbing a thumb across his bruised bottom lip.

Dean licked where her thumb had just been. He kept his mind as blank as possible. "Could you…" he said, his voice low and pleading.  "Can you please let me out of this?" He indicated the ropes with a jerk of his chin. "I so gotta use the bathroom."

Miriam smiled, but there was no warmth in the expression. "Poor mortal," she crooned. She ghosted the back of her fingers against his cheek. "See, my kind don't have that problem." She chuckled, low in her throat.

"Please," Dean whispered, he tilted his chin a little, bringing his mouth close to hers. "I know it'd be a big favor and I'm willing to—pay for it."

"Of course you are," Miriam said. "She leaned in, closing the gap between them and captured his mouth with hers.

Dean moaned, closing his eyes, kissing her back with everything he could muster, thrusting his tongue into her mouth, nibbling at her tongue when she parried back.

Miriam pulled away. "Sorry, Angel, no can do." She got up and stepped away from him. "Your sweet brother is on his way to pay us a visit. You'll just have to hold on."

 _Sam's on his way?_  Dean met her eyes as that thought registered. "You had to know he wouldn't just wait till you told him where to find me," he said.

"Oh, I was counting on that," Miriam replied. "I _want_ him to find you. You're bait, baby-boy." She turned and walked away from him back to her altar.

"Bitch." Dean bit his lip, tugging hard at the ropes and his heart leaped when he thought he felt some give in them this time. He willed himself to stay calm, keep his thoughts neutral. The fact she hadn't gagged him again was not lost on Dean but he wasn't going to call anymore attention to that.

 --

It had proven ridiculously easy to find the place where the bitch had his brother. Sam left the car on the roadside and made his way down a short dirt track on foot. He had the pistol in his hand, held out in front of him, the safety off. He moved carefully through the gathering twilight alert for any sound or movement, his finger twitching on the trigger. He knew now that it was a trap. It wouldn't have been this easy to find Dean, unless he was meant to. He crouched in the overgrown grass when he saw the little darkened house.

This scenario gave Sam a sense of _déjà vu._ He shook his head, inching his way closer to the house. Damn if the demon hadn't decided to pull a Gordon on him. _Way to let me know you're gunning for me, bitch,_ he thought as he moved into the shadows by the wall of the house.

 --

Miriam had gone back to her altar, praying in a language that Dean couldn't understand. He didn't really care what she was doing though, he was certain he'd felt the ropes give the last time he pulled against them. He put his head down, determined to free his right arm. He flicked a glance at Miriam when she suddenly fell silent. She was tense, her posture alert. She turned to look at Dean and he saw the flash of the blade she held in her fingers.

"He's here," Miriam said with a cold smile. She advanced on Dean. 

Dean felt his blood run cold. He looked from the blade into her cold, black eyes and swallowed hard. "Hey," he said softly. "What are you gonna do with that?" He would never admit, not even for a million bucks, that he was scared—not Dean Winchester. He drew a sharp breath and pushed his back against the back of the chair, watching her intently.

"It's time to say goodbye, Dean." They both froze at the sound of the door swinging open. Dean closed his eyes. 

"Sammy? S'that you?" He bit his lip, praying that his brother had the sense to come armed for killing a demon. 

"Quiet!" Miriam pressed the blade to Dean's throat. "Your next sound will be your last," she hissed. 

There was no answer from Sam, but Dean heard the familiar sound of a clip being loaded into the 9mm. He tensed, knowing that Miriam was within very close range of him and there was a good chance that Sam would shoot him should he miss the mark. He swallowed hard, the blade nicking the soft skin at his throat with even that small movement. _O_ _h shit_ , Dean thought, _Don't miss, Sammy._

Suddenly the air was split by three shots in quick succession. Dean ducked his head as Miriam screamed and jerked away from him. He couldn't tell if he'd been cut or not. There was noise and confusion and smoke, but Miriam didn't fall. Dean screwed his eyes shut expecting, any second to feel the impact of a bullet.

"Nooo!" Miriam howled.

 

Dean chanced a look up and a grin spread across his face. _Good thinkin', Sammy!_  The chalice Miriam had on the altar lay in pieces, blood running from the table onto the floor. 

In the silence that followed, Dean heard the distinct sound of an empty clip dropping to the floor, and a new one slipping into the gun.

"Miriam? It's Miriam, isn't it?" Sam called from somewhere in the shadows. "Here's the deal, you let my brother go and you walk out of here."

Miriam snarled and moved to grab a handful of Dean's hair. "No, how about you put the gun down or I slit your brother's pretty throat." 

"No, Sam!" Dean yelled. "No dice!"

"Shut up!" Miriam snarled and he felt the blade bite into his skin, unable to hold back the cry of pain. _Fuck what has she dipped that fucking blade in?_

There was a movement, and Sam stepped into the light, the gun held above his head. "I just want my brother, okay?" 

Dean swore softly. 

"Drop it!" Miriam said. She jerked Dean's head back, the knife held hard against his throat. Dean tried to meet his brother's eyes, but Sam wouldn't look at him, keeping his gaze locked with Miriam's. Sam knelt slowly and dropped the gun onto the floor, raising his hands again quickly. 

"Step away!" Miriam snapped. She cut the ropes that held Dean as Sam stepped away from the gun. With a hand still fisted into Dean's hair she dragged him to his feet, pushing him ahead of her over to Sam. "Search him!" 

"Fuck you!" Dean had had all he could take from this bitch. He drove his elbow into her belly, hard, ducking and rolling to the floor as she let him go. "Sam!" He yelled, knowing well enough that Sam would not have only come in here with one gun. His faith in Sam was confirmed when two shots rang out in quick succession. Dean flattened himself to the floor, hands covering his head. 

Miriam stumbled backwards with a sharp, rattling intake of breath. She dropped the wicked little blade and her hands went to her heart. A devilish scream broke from her lips and she threw her head back, spewing black smoke into the air which swirled and then vanished through the ceiling. 

The girl remained standing for a moment as thick, dark blood welled from her lips. She raised dark, frightened eyes to Sam's face and slowly dropped to the floor. 

Sam stared at the girl's body, the gun still held ready to fire but he slowly lowered it as she fell.

"Sam?" Dean stirred, forcing his aching limbs to move as he struggled to his feet and went to his brother's side. He glanced down at the dead girl and put a hand on Sam's arm, meeting his brother's eyes as Sam finally tore his gaze away from the body.

"It was you or her, Dean," Sam said. 

"I know." Dean nodded. He looked down at the body. "Did you bring salt?" 

"Yeah, it's in the car."

Dean winced at a sudden flash of memory. "Not the Impala, I'm guessin'?"

"Rental," Sam replied. "Your baby's in the garage." Bending down, he picked up the glock from the floor and handed it to Dean. 

"Shit." Dean spat. "That bitch ran me off the road." He took the gun, adjusting his clothes and fastening his fly before he shoved the gun into the back of his jeans. He shook his head at Sam's raised eyebrow. "I don't wanna talk about it, Sammy," he said. "Let's salt and burn her, and get the hell outta here." 

Sam just nodded. He turned towards the door. "I'll get the salt." 

\-- 

Walking along the dirt track a half hour later, Dean glanced back at the burning house.   
  
"The Impala's gonna be in the shop at least a week," Sam said. "They have to get replacement parts, not easy to find for a classic."  
  
"Yeah, and I suppose you rented a fricken mini-van," Dean replied.  
  
"Three wheel van, bright yellow with Trotter Independent traders along the side," Sam replied. He ducked his head with a grin when Dean looked away, shaking his head.  
  
"Jesus, tell me you're jokin'!" Dean stopped, gazing at the sleek black nissan parked at the end of the track. He glanced at Sam. "Not bad," he allowed.  
  
"Ah it's just a toy," Sam replied.  
  
"Well, I suppose I can cope with lettin' you drive me around in it," Dean said as he slid into the passenger seat.  
  
"When we get back to the cabin, you're not settin' foot out of it again till I'm sure you're okay," Sam said.  
  
Dean rolled his eyes. "Yes, mom," he grumbled, hiding a grin. He was secretly glad that he was still alive for Sam to fuss over, not that he would admit that aloud, mind you.  
  
Sam glanced at his brother with a small smile before he turned the key in the ignition and headed the car towards 'home.'

 

~fin~


End file.
